


Once We Were

by Eureka234



Series: I Was There When You Needed Me Most [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Bad Templars (Dragon Age), Chantry Issues, Circle Mages, Erotica, F/M, First Time, Flirting, Forbidden Love, Friendship, Good Templars (Dragon Age), Kissing, Love Letters, Mages vs. Templars, Nudity, Original Character(s), POV Original Female Character, Prequel, Present Tense, Seduction, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Discovery, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-03-26 04:14:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 75,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3836653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eureka234/pseuds/Eureka234
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In "Before the Dawn" the Inquisitor learned that when Samson was with the Order, he was dismissed for passing letters between the mage Maddox and his lover.<br/>Though Samson only saw part of what happened.<br/>Phillipa, a Templar who was the recipient of these letters, saw more. Prequel to "Samson's Shield of Shame" and has a number of OCs.</p><p>Completed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own the Dragon Age universe or it's characters, just the original ones. The decision to write this in present tense was Inspired by orangeflavor. In the process of writing this story my writing has improved. The punctuation errors in the beginning chapters do eventually go away, I promise. One day when I feel adequately inspired I may go back and fix them. 
> 
> Story completed as of 21 August 2017.   
> Thank you to JayRain and Dehaxat for providing feedback on the last chapters.   
> Thank you to Winter Wren for her feedback, which helped me stay motivated until the end.

The first time Phillipa Evitt sees him is during a patrol of the third floor.

She listens to the sound of her clunking armour, waves at those she passes and occasionally starts a conversation if the Knight Commander or another Templar needs to speak to her. It is the fifth hour of her patrol of the Gallows.

Mostly, Phillipa remains undeviating from her march, drawing inspiration from the Canticle of Shartan. She sings it under her breath, borrowing the melody of a Chantry hymm, "For twenty days and twenty nights the people ran with the footsteps of the legion ever at their backs. No rest could they find, since their flight from Vol Dorma."

The verses do not quite fit, though Phillipa makes them fit. She loves singing these songs and receives a lot of practice during these shifts, where the loud sounds of her armour drowns out her voice. She must admit though, she'd rather have a small number of responsibilities, guarding charges, than the near hundred mages that these shifts offer.

She crosses paths with the woman a near-identical shift, Ser Eloise, for the fourth time that day, and her colleague flicks Phillipa's hair as they walk past.

Though she finds the game impractical Phillipa finally concedes to Ser Eloise's trickery.

"Pardon me." she says, as Eloise's fingers trail for far longer through Phillipa's hair.

Eloise finds the formality amusing. "Bless _you_!"

The walls are so grey, but nothing compares to her mood. The youthful Templar has a shiny outlook on life and the Circle, much like her other brother and sister Templars. After all, she is well fed, has a nice bed, and despite the long hours on her feet day by day there is always those to discuss her woes with at the end of it – even during, if she is not as focused.

She leans against a wall and moves around her left ankle. Stiffness is not uncommon, as much as she doesn't like it she will stretch it out later.

"Ser Phillipa!" cries a happy voice.

The Templar raises her brown eyes and her face splits into a wide smile. She recognizes the man who approaches her.

"Enchanter Glendon," she tries not to sound overly excited, "Is there a matter I can help you with?"

"Only hello!" he shakes his head, "How's work?"

"Pleasant, thank you," Phillipa says. The man's dark skin accentuates the rich velvet mauve and gold robes. His staff, which is new, is also stunning, in the way new weapons only could be.

"Those robes are rather becoming on you."

"I wanted to thank you again for your… presence I guess," Glendon's tone suddenly softens, "I still can't believe how much trouble I had with ice spells, but I didn't need them in my Harrowing, thank the Maker."

"It's better than being an apprentice, isn't it?" she offers, "I pray you are enjoying yourself."

"I don't receive as many nasty glances from the Knight Commander," Glendon whispers, as though it is a secret, "Oh, right, right. I know. I remember. I had to discuss something with the Orsino. You sing lovely, sugar."

"You can't call me that!" Phillipa gasps, though she finds it difficult to lessen the elation inside as he leaves the third floor.

She doesn't have to say that, but it feels better to anyway. The behaviours of mages fully integrated into the Circle are more often overlooked, even if they are still rarely permitted to leave. As one of her previous charges, she fills with pride at the thought that he can find a few more little treasures of happiness in the day with the promotion.

Stepping from the wall, she pushes her blonde hair out of her eyes and catches sight of another mage. This one isn't wearing Enchanter's robes, though the darker, daintier fabric of the apprentices.

His smile catches her attention. It looks genuine. The young man has very little hair, a bony structure to his face and is somewhat short.

 _I wonder if his birth date is close to mine_ , Phillipa wonders, thoughtfully.

He balances a book on his head and his hazel eyes spot her for a fraction of a moment. His eyes glitter with surprise, hopefulness and he smiles that little bit wider. 

Startling her, Phillipa doesn't remember to smile.

She wonders what he is thinking about and what inspires his joy.

When the mage becomes a blur in the crowd, Phillipa continues to march, though there is more to her happiness than her charges. Maybe that young man can see what is wonderful about the Circle too. 

Most think she's too innocent to do wrong. That is their greatest mistake.

 _I wonder who my next charges will be, or when I will receive them,_ she thinks. Sometimes charges have multiple guardians or the amount of time watching them is unusual or lessened. It all depends on the mage. It rarely depends on the Templar.

Mages need protection. Templars need lyrium.

As simply as putting her hair behind her ear, she pushes the young man with the book on his head from her mind.

* * *

Her question is answered in a week's time.

Usually she meets her charges inside the Knight Commander's office when they are assigned, but not today.

Meredith passes Phillipa a piece of paper across her desk, barely meeting her eyes.

"They are Ainsley, Hensen and Ronette," the Knight Commander explains, not appearing interested. Most take offense to Meredith's briskness, though Phillipa doesn't. She knows it is not an attack on her, "Now please leave me, Miss Evitt. I have too much work to do and it pains me greatly."

Many of Phillipa's peers say Meredith is harsh, but she holds the utmost respect for her. She is only hard working and confident in her decisions, very important and valuable assets to possess, indeed.

Phillipa nods and takes hold of the note. "Yes, Knight Commander."

Her voice is soft and proper, enough to please any superior. She is the good girl. Phillipa does not mind the title. There could be nothing misplaced about good behavior.

The Templar is looking forward to meeting them. She sees her charges as children to watch with an affectionate, but careful, eye. The memory of one charge's failed Harrowing is especially painful, but she disconnects from the sadness. It is the Maker's will, that's all. The Maker wouldn't cause harm without reason.

* * *

When Phillipa leaves the office she notices there is one mage too many in the bundle.

"Good afternoon." she says with a small smile, "My name is Phillipa. I'll be looking out for you three. I am here if you have any questions, and I don't mind silly antics, so long as it doesn't involve demons. Understood?"

The three young mages nod nervously. The new charges are always like this. They don't know what to think.

The eldest mage, who she suspects has no relation to her charges, waves at her. She is surprised that she recognizes him. A cheeky smile, a lack of hair and his stocky build do not fit so elegantly with his robes.

"I was just showing them around," he says, "Templar's are scary for the younglings."

There is no guilt or hesitation in his tone.

"I appreciate the help," Phillipa says with a nod, but she wonders why the young man is assisting, "You balance books on your head."

"I am working up to balancing a whole bookshelf worth," the mage answers, "I think it will help during my Harrowing if a demon can't break my neck."

The young lady laughs, and forgets that she is supposed to focus on her charges, "The one near the magical stockroom would be best for that."

"I knew you would know the most appropriate method of injuring me," the man says, "I hear you're quite the smart cookie."

Phillipa notices from the corner of her eye that her charges are walking away, "Who told you that?"

"Maddox! For Maker's sake!"

The two turn to see a Templar with a lot of beard. He approaches them briskly with some books in his arms, "Put these back where you found them."

It must be the mage's Templar. Phillipa is bewildered. She knows of Chandler but that is all.

Maddox laughs, "How thoughtful of you, Chandler, I must have dropped them."

 _Maddox,_ the Templar muses, _that is a beguiling name._

Phillipa turns on her heel.

For once she decides to go along with the joke, "They belong on his head, I believe." She waves, "Best wishes detaining him, Ser Chandler."

As the woman strides after her precious children she fails to suppress a smile.


	2. Chapter 2

"Phillipa, I hope you don't mind if I sit with you," Cullen says with the utmost care.

The dining hall is a struggle to find a good seat if one arrives late. It is bright, incredibly spacious, filled with wonderful aromas and so many tables sometimes it is easy to spill food down ones front by pushing past. Thankfully, judging by the cleanliness, her childhood friend has not been embarrassed by that fate yet.

Phillipa shakes her head. With plate in hand, she guides Cullen to her table. The man has been here since yesterday. Coming from Ferelden, perhaps the dining arrangement is another detail her old friend is not used to. The Blight and the tragedy that befell his prior Circle is not something Phillipa thinks should be spoken about, especially since Cullen is more withdrawn than she remembers. Mia's previous letter explaining the situation, even in minor detail, sticks out in her mind as too awful.

"How do you find the Gallows?" Phillipa inquires.

Cullen, like the question frees him, answers in a lot of detail. "Kinloch Hold is arranged in a spiral formation and not squares. You may not think it matters, but sometimes I am not convinced I know how to walk in a straight line because I am so used to leaning my neck – Maker, I am not used to the pillows either. Mia would try pulling my spine into a knot if she were here, I am confident of that much."

"You walk meticulously," Phillipa tries to compliment him. She reaches her usual table, "Sister, may Cullen sit here?"

Zoe already knows about Cullen from Phillipa's stories over the years of training, so his appearance is not a surprise. "A free seat is a free seat."

It is only in contrast to Cullen's accent that Phillipa realizes she now uses many Marcher pronunciations of words, despite spending her youth in Ferelden. Actually, it is mostly _Zoe_ pronunciation. At times, it is like the brunette holds her own language. She prefers to ensure she appears as beautiful as possible every day. Zoe is already blessed with Maker granted prettiness, so Phillipa does not see how the extra ink on eyelashes is necessary. Zoe justifies it by saying she likes to attract boy's attention, but that is another dialect of Zoe all on its own.

"R-right." Cullen says awkwardly. His thumb presses harder against the ceramic and he sits down with a stacked plate in hand.

Zoe does not have much of her meal to go. The meatless rib of lamb is like a greasy wall to prevent the vegetables from escaping.

It is a surprise when another man with brown hair and stern features appears moments later, his plate evenly divided with meat versus vegetable ratio. Phillipa recognizes him from her patrols, though she does not know his name.

"This is my roommate." Cullen explains, and he looks embarrassed. "Samson is his name. His _last_ name, though… Sweet Maker. Do not ask. I made that mistake on my first evening and got lectured for almost twenty minutes. This is Ser Phillipa."

Cullen's roommate looks mildly confused by the choice of introductory statements. His stubble is uneven, though his hair is neat in comparison. Perhaps Cullen forced a comb through it.

"It's a delight, Ser Samson." Phillipa says happily. When she meets new friends, she is always upbeat about it, "I'd be very pleased if you could call me Phillipa."

Samson nods and sits down in the seat next to Cullen, but he looks tired. He picks up his fork and stuffs a vegetable in his mouth without saying hello.

"Cullen, you remember Zoe?" Phillipa tries to make her new acquaintance talk, "Ser Samson, this is _my_ roommate."

Zoe has long brown hair, so dark it is almost black, and shiny green eyes. Even though the two look nothing alike, the girls get along so well most think they are related.

Something about Zoe grabs Samson's attention, for his expression appears less harsh and his eyebrows slacken.

"You know Cullen through his sister, right?" he says wearily.

"Yes," Cullen responds for him, "Mia and Phillipa used to play together on the farm in Honnleath. Her parents did not live far from each other, and Phillipa's mother made cakes for my parents wedding. Apparently that is enough to warrant a friendship."

Phillipa chews on her food and notices Samson still peering at Zoe, though her roommate moves uncomfortably in her chair. Clearly there is something that this man finds interesting about her!

"I'm pretty sure their collective attractiveness couldn't come close to matching Ser Zoe." Samson says as casually as though he is saying hello.

The next moment is chaotic. Cullen blushes, Samson looks down at his plate, says 'Shit' and Zoe laughs. Phillipa supposes it could have been worse. She envisions how in Templar training a boy who sparred with her kept dropping his equipment. Phillipa remembers feeling embarrassed when the boy stared at Zoe when she crouched down to pick them up. Then there was another one who would wash his hands after using the garderobe, but wipe them dry on Zoe's arm because supposedly he didn't want to get germs.

Samson is looking down at his plate. He focuses on cutting up his lamb exactly right, like it is a ritual or spell he is being tested on.

"What a weird way to compliment me." Zoe is beside herself, "Stop with the formality, please. Is Samson always this odd?"

Cullen appears very embarrassed, more uneasy than Samson himself, "Yes, but not quite like _that_."

"I am weird in lots of ways." Samson mentions, to which is also seems angry for saying.

Phillipa does not think Samson's outburst is anything to be concerned about, though his social awkwardness probably is not the kind of attention Zoe wants.

"How were your charges today, Cullen?" Phillipa asks, quickly trying to change the subject.

She decides not to mention the young man with books on his head.

* * *

It is a week later after breakfast when Phillipa reminds herself that the Maker has strange plans. The group disperses to find their charges, but Samson follows. Upon inspection, the Templar has his hands behind his back.

"Hello again, sweetie." He says, unable to keep his gaze off Zoe.

There is no answer until they exit the dining hall and enter an area which is not roaming with Templars.

Zoe appears startled. "Uh, did you want to speak to me?" she stops in her tracks and grins, "or is there a different reason you are practically acting like one of our charges?"

Samson coughs loudly and peers to the floor. It isn't a sudden unexplained sickness. By the amount of time fascinated by it, Phillipa concludes it is an expression of nerves. With effort, his eyes meet Phillipa's. "I would like to talk to you, actually."

Phillipa doesn't know what to think. So far Samson doesn't seem talented with making conversation. He is even worse than Cullen whom, bless Andraste, at least has conversation to save him.

"Phillipa," she reminds him.

"Shut up," Samson groans, and he guides her away by the shoulder, "I know your name."

"You make us think otherwise, weirdo," Zoe mutters as she wanders off.

Phillipa is inclined to agree, but reminds herself to believe Cullen. Samson isn't usually this odd.

The two of them are as alone as could be in the Gallows. Only a few odd Templars cross every few minutes.

It is when Zoe is out of sight Phillipa gets the first look at the real Samson.

"I can't believe I can be so bloody stupid every time I'm around someone," he mutters darkly, "In my whole time in the Circle I've never been so much like Cullen. I don't get it."

The words are free flowing, as though before there was something clogging them like one of the shower drains. His tone is even and his reactions match his expressions at the right moments.

"You…" Phillipa tries to think of what to say, "Everyone makes idiots of themselves sometimes."

Samson crosses his arms and for the first time his posture relaxes. Phillipa notices he is holding onto an envelope, "I wonder when 'sometime' will become 'never again'."

The blonde points at the paper, "Would you like me to give that to Zoe?"

"I knew you were going to think that," Samson says annoyed, and his tone hardens, "No."

Phillipa tries to fix up her hair, "Then what is it?"

"It's a letter." Samson says dryly, with an expression that suggests, 'What do you think it is?'.

Phillipa waits for the man to continue and he holds out the parchment.

"It's from a friend." He finishes, "and he told me to tell you that you should consider its contents more than once."

"More than once," Phillipa repeats slowly, "Perfectly understood."

She picks the letter out of Samson's outstretched hand as though she has been given the Urn of Sacred Ashes. "Thank you."

"I, uh…" Samson tries to think of how to say goodbye, "Tell Zoe I'm only an idiot around her."

"I think she has already figured that out," Phillipa responds, "but I'll remind her anyway."

"Thanks." Samson finally appears to smile, not that obtrusive grin he sometimes gave. He waves, "See you at dinner."

Phillipa only reads the letter once she has found her charges. They ask her who it is from, and she says it is homework.


	3. Chapter 3

Dear Phillipa,

I think I have managed to make my dream a reality. You were right; the bookshelf near the stock room was perfect. I may have been yelled at, but it was quickly remedied. I am a smart cookie too!

I wouldn't mind showing off my talent for you. If you're interested, I'll be hanging out there tonight. I expect a large turn out, so you won't be the only one there, I promise!

Have a beautiful day,

Maddox

Phillipa laughs at the note and can't decide whether she should go. Not only is it inappropriate to associate with mages outside charges, but it would be past bedtime. It might be a prank.

"I knew it!" Ainsley exclaims, and the note flies out of Phillipa's grasp.

"No, don't!" she protests, and with a flick of her hand the letter is burnt to a crisp. The library is so quiet this disruption is alarming.

The children do not appear to care.

"What were you hiding?" Ronette asks. Her pigtails are cute, making it is impossible to not reply.

"I said it was homework."

"Homework isn't funny!" Ainsley denies. The second boy, Hensen, reads intently some feet away.

"If she isn't explaining, she probably won't confess if you bother her," he tells them as he pushes his glasses up his nose.

Phillipa is very grateful Hensen spoke up to her defense.

* * *

Phillipa doesn't see Zoe at lunch and does not speak of the letter at dinner. She waits until she is in her room.

"What did Samson want?" Zoe asks, reading a book on her bed. They feel comfortable in their nightwear at the end of a long day.

Phillipa sighs. "He gave me a letter," she explains "also, he wanted me to remind you that he only makes a fool of himself in front of you."

Zoe chuckles darkly, "Yeah, like that'll change anything."

"He _is_ nice when he can speak properly without hindrance," Phillipa advises, "Anyway, the letter was from a mage I talked to once. He wants to show me a trick near the stock room tonight."

"Tonight as in _now_?" Zoe demands, and she shuts her book with a snap, "Who does he think he is? Why would he even ask?"

"I… he interpreted a joke as literal," Phillipa stutters out.

Zoe groans, "I don't get it." she hesitates, "Are you thinking of going?"

"I know I shouldn't." Phillipa blurts out immediately, "although I am intensely curious."

"I have the perfect solution." Zoe says and she sits up, "how about we both go? And you can use it as an excuse to tell him off."

Phillipa surprises herself with the certainty of her answer, "Yes. That is a good idea."

* * *

The bookshelf near the stock room is only lit by a single candle. It is far too dark to be safe.

"Maddox?" Phillipa begins slowly, "are you there?"

She feels silly wearing a dressing gown but at least Zoe is with her.

"Hi friend of Phillipa," whispers a voice from behind them. Zoe screams in shock.

"Are you serious?!" she shouts at him.

Phillipa feels herself blush, but tries to hide it. Maddox looks suited to darkness. "You are… this was a bad idea!" she raises her voice.

Maddox laughs. He doesn't mind the resistance. "I knew you wouldn't come by yourself."

"Why would I?" Phillipa tries to sound angry, but it isn't working, "You were luring me into a trap."

"I wasn't. I swear." Maddox assures her. Zoe and Phillipa watch in disbelief as the mage waves his arms. Very gently the rows of heavy encyclopaedias pull from the shelves and stack themselves on top of one another, surrounded by light. Half a minute later, the stack almost touches the high ceiling.

"By Andraste's chipped fingernails," Zoe announces, "what the _fuck_?!"

Phillipa is in awe of Maddox's daring. She is certain no other mage has attempted this trick. She stares at the glittering blue light illuminating the room. Maddox is intelligent enough to know how to control his magic. His hazel eyes shine brilliantly despite his look of concentration.

"If you drop them we'll all get in trouble." she warns him.

"I am aware." Maddox acknowledges. The pile of books hovers over the mage's head. At least this wouldn't take long.

"This is stupid." Zoe covers her face with her hands, "I can't watch."

Phillipa is overcome with fascination. As terrified as she is that they will get caught by a mistake that would be too easy to make, she keeps her eyes on the mage.

Maddox turns to her. "Don't be scared."

Unable to speak, Phillipa shakes her head. Her heartbeat races as Maddox lowers the pile to his nearly bald head. He widens his stance and as he clenches a fist all the light in the room vanishes. The mage hadn't been lying. There he is, balancing what must be kilos upon kilos of literature on his skull.

"Are you impressed?" he wonders, eyes fixed on the good girl who is not being so good right now.

Phillipa does not know how to answer, but she is unable to look away. Maddox smiles, raises his arms, quickly dissipates the pile and puts the books back in order.

Zoe finally removes her hands. "You idiot!" she shouts, "She's not impressed! You scared the lyrium out of her!"

Phillipa looks to the ground and doesn't have the heart to admit she is nothing less of dazzled. It takes a special kind of person to perform such idiotic tricks. Even Zoe had to know that. There is something different about this mage, even if it means he is trouble.

The Templar glances to Zoe and clears her throat. It is time to put an end to this.

"It is unethical to arrange private meetings with me…" she begins.

"Do you hear that? That means it's wrong!" Zoe adds.

"It is a good idea to not attempt it in future." Phillipa continues.

Maddox does not refute the argument. He places his hands on his hips instead. "Don't worry." He assures them, "It was just a one-time spectacle anyhow."

As he speaks, the mage fixates on Phillipa's mouth. The girl does not notice.

"Good," Zoe says defiantly.

"What you did tonight was foolish." Phillipa concludes, "I don't want to see you tomorrow. Is that understood?"

"Of course." Maddox is very compliant with the suggestion, "Thank you for coming. It was fun."

"Goodnight, Maddox," Zoe says firmly, and she pulls Phillipa by the arm, "Let's go back to bed."

"Y-Yes."

As Phillipa leaves Maddox behind she feels guilty for bringing Zoe with her.


	4. Chapter 4

Zoe is very angry at Phillipa for making her go all that way in her nightclothes, but there did not seem to be any difference between the dynamics at the table next morning. Phillipa tries to pretend she is equally frustrated, but she isn't. She cannot shake the feeling that she finds Maddox intriguing, allowed or not.

She pulls Samson aside when the table dissipates. The bustle of Templars around her made it easy not to be overheard.

"Is there something wrong?" he asks, his hands by his side.

The man had gotten slightly better at speaking today. Perhaps it is because of Phillipa passing on his message to Zoe.

"I, um…" Phillipa is flustered. There is so much she wants to know she wasn't sure where to start, "How do you know Maddox?"

Samson raises his eyebrows. "I don't, really. He just started talking to me."

The answer is a mild relief.

"He did that for me too!" Phillipa exclaims, her voice shrill.

Samson screws up his face. "Is everything all right?"

"I feel bad for him. Can you tell him I'm sorry for bringing Zoe with me?"

She doesn't know why she feels so ashamed. Is it because she considers Maddox trustworthy?

"What are you talking about?" Samson asks.

"Maddox can tell you." Phillipa hurries, her pale complexion going pink, "I don't mean to bother you, but I'm so upset about it."

"Fine." Samson says shortly. He hesitates, "what did Zoe say?"

"She wasn't amused." Phillipa says plainly, wishing she had more news. The whispers are somewhat justifiable in her mind because they are both being overly cautious, so Phillipa agrees to pass on another message in exchange for Samson's deed.

When Phillipa passes Maddox in the corridors, she looks at the ground, feeling foolish. She dearly wishes she could speak to Cullen about this so she can have some sense knocked into her. At the same time she does not want the sense knocked into her. There is no reason for guilt when she has done nothing wrong.

* * *

The opportunity arises the next morning when Phillipa is heading down to breakfast.

"If you don't mind waiting a moment, Phillipa." Cullen calls, jogging toward her. His armor clatters loudly and it makes Phillipa cringe with every step. His expression is soft. It always is around her.

"I just had a chat to Samson about this mage he's been contacting," Cullen begins, in a highly formal way, "I wanted to check you don't feel forced into the situation."

"Of course not! No!" Phillipa says with more vigour than she wants. Cullen opens his mouth, makes a strange noise, and continues to speak.

"You know better than I do what could happen if these exchanges get out of hand," he keeps his eyes down to protect himself, "just be careful. I know I cannot force you to do anything, but…"

"Cullen, the mage and I are not even friends." Phillipa assures him, somewhat amazed he was panicking about one letter. She finds it awfully empowering to address him as 'the mage', "he contacted _me,_ and I was just being polite."

"Politeness, yes, of course." Cullen seems taken aback, "I didn't mean to pry, Phillipa, but… you know."

"I know what?" Phillipa inquires, honestly curious as to what is causing the fuss.

"Ethics are written for a reason." Cullen rushes, speaking so quickly it is hard to catch it all, "no one ever intends for the line to be crossed. Meredith is very strong willed. You don't know, but I have heard stories. Tell me you'll be careful."

The blonde is still confused by the uproar, "I _am_ being careful, and it isn't a problem. It was only _one_ letter."

Cullen peers uncomfortably to the side, "Actually, Samson has a second one."

 _Another_ letter? That's fine.

"I'll ignore it," Phillipa promises.

* * *

Dear Phillipa,

It was a pleasant surprise to hear from you again. I suspected the other night would be the end of it. I wasn't bothered by your roommate, Zoe, is it? I quite enjoy your friends. They seem like nice people.

I understand that you do not wish to see me and you are doing the right thing. The truth is you have quite a reputation among the mages. The few I've spoken to consider you the kindest, sweetest of the female Templars. It makes me jealous of them. I think the Circle needs clever, nice girls like you. How else would charges feel safe in this prison? I'm not sure the Circle has all its creases flattened out myself. You appear to believe in the system. I wanted to know your opinion? I feel like I could learn a lot from you.

Of course, I'm not trying to cross any lines here. If you don't want to answer, I understand, but Chandler certainly doesn't help me understand why the Circle is the way it is. He just makes me want to throw books at him.

Anxiously,

Maddox

If he just wants a question answered, what could be the problem in responding? It seems like it is for a good cause. It is her job mages do not go astray, and since Chandler is not assisting as well as he could...

She writes on the back of the paper, as her charges perform simple spells some feet away. She smiles at them.

Hello Maddox,

I am pleased Zoe did not worry you. Some find her hard to get along with at times. She gets more emotional than I do when rules are broken, at least when _I_ get into trouble, if you can believe it?

I am surprised my previous charges speak of me at all. It takes such a long time for Harrowings to take place that you must be only speaking of two, maybe three individuals. Was it Sileas or Glendon by any chance?

I am interested to reply to your letter for your benefit as well as my own. The answer to your question of what makes me believe in the Circle does not have a straightforward explanation. My parents separated when I was very small. I do not know much about it, but I moved with my father to Kirkwall from Honnleath in Fereldan. My father has always emphasized the importance of following rules, but not being so devout that it goes to your head. I wonder if my mother made him believe that so strongly. I write to my mother but she does not want to speak of it.

I digress. My father is a strong believer in the Maker, and I am too. While I see that not everything in the world, or even in the Circle, is perfect, I believe the Maker has done that for a reason. It just seems ridiculous to me that wrongs happen in the world for no purpose?

The Circle is a safe place. Of that, I am certain. I sometimes wonder if it is worth allowing charges more freedom, but if that was the best choice, don't you think it would have been created that way?

Surprisingly anxious as well,

Phillipa


	5. Chapter 5

Phillipa,

I can believe what you write about Zoe. Am I right in guessing that your father's attitude about not letting rules drive you crazy have something to do with that?

Both of them, actually – Sileas and Glendon are amazing. They are so wise, and they seem really well adjusted.

Thank you for sharing that little piece about your family. It is so interesting to hear because I, like many of my friends, don't remember much of mine. My parents were sword smiths so I remember lots of clanging of metal, smouldering fires and sparks flying everywhere, the odd fact here and there. This Circle is all I've known. It must have been nice to have chosen to live here. What inspired you to abandon your father if you got along nicely?

It seems a lot of your faith in the Circle has come with your belief that the Maker works in mysterious ways. Have you had any negative experiences here? Do you question if that would change your belief? What if your father had preached of the Old Gods instead?

Sorry if that's too much. I just find it so confusing. I don't know if I believe in the Maker. To me if He exists he is a cruel, heartless bastard. I won't name names but I have heard stories. Meredith once physically abused one of my friends, and there are others who have been sexually used by the Templars who watch them. How is that supposed to be following the will of the Maker? Doesn't that make you angry?

I'll leave it there. I hope this doesn't scare you away. I really just admire your stance and attitude and I want to be able to believe the same.

Very worried,

Maddox

Phillipa is stunned by the words. She stares blankly at the questions, but feels her heart shudder at the conception that the Circle might not be all that she hoped it was. Cullen was right. She should have listened to him. 

The woman keeps her promises. She hardly ever lies, not intentionally, anyhow. She wonders why she strayed from her word, from her own rules. 

She catches eyes with Ronette and forces a smile. The little mage sees right through it, her red hair makes her seem angry.

"You look ill," she observes, abandoning her book for a moment, "Did your _homework_ hurt your feelings?"

The Templar looks down at the letter but the words are fuzzy and unreadable. It is quite obvious she is not studying to pass the time any longer.

"Do you remember that older mage who was with you when we first met?" she questions.

The three mages are confused by the question. They look at each other.

"He was interesting." Ainsley admits.

Hensen doesn't look up at her, "He just started talking to us."

Phillipa is unnerved by the pattern of behavior. Maddox knew who she was before they had even spoken, and he had deliberately sought her out. That was very obvious now. All of a sudden the books were threatening and unwelcome. Was this going to lead her down an unjust path? The letter implied that the intentions were not malicious but Phillipa can't help but worry they are. She wants to run away. The good girl ignores the letter for now.

* * *

She happens to cross paths with Samson in a corridor on the way to hunting an apostate and convinces him that she has an urgent matter to discuss. She will search for the apostate later.

They speak in an empty room. It smells of dust, has a lot of broken tiles, and is altogether a mess. It is obvious why it is never used. She suspects she must be shaking with anticipation. Her brown eyes meet Samson's, and she wishes she was stronger. Samson looks very handsome in the pale afterglow from the corridor, despite his frustration.

"What's happened now?" he asks, a hint of irritation in his voice.

Their voices echo.

Phillipa is overwhelmed for the first time since she left home for the Circle. All the thoughts that are swirling in her mind pour out as tears instead.

Samson's eyes widen ever so slightly, like he is only mildly surprised. Does she look on the verge of tears to everyone?

The girl tries to talk, but it only comes out as disjointed sounds, like a wounded bird trying to escape its cage.

Samson moves closer to her very slowly as though she is a possessed demon, watching the gentle 'tap tap' of her boots.

"Would it help if I read the letter?" he offers.

Phillipa shakes her head and holds the letter closer to her. She shouldn't care about a piece of paper. She shouldn't let the words of a mage get to her. She doesn't know why she doesn't want anyone else to read it. There was just so much wrong with the situation already. She is crossing a line by even pursuing her upset.

She needs to ignore everything, but her emotions and good will are much stronger than her resolve to hide.

"Am I a wicked, naïve fool, Samson?" she chokes out, unable to quieten the noise.

Samson snorts, although it is clear he didn't mean to, "Are you really asking _me_ that?"

Of course Samson wouldn't understand. He made himself look like a fool a number of occasions a day.

Phillipa answers in strange noises again, nearly hyperventilating.

"Can you say your thoughts _one at a time_?" Samson suggests firmly, "Of course it won't make sense if you try pushing them all through your glossy lips at once."

The girl admires Samson for being so straight forward. All of a sudden, her thoughts become clearer to her.

"Am I crazy? Am I an idiot? I can't prove the Maker exists. I don't know how to reply to the letter. Maddox is a smart cookie. I feel alone. I feel ridiculous. I thought I was doing the right thing. I know I'm definitely doing wrong. The Maker hates me. I shouldn't have done this, but I wanted to. Why do I have to want anything? Maybe I can't help him. Maddox is too clever. I know I shouldn't reply but I want to. I don't know what to say," she blurts it out so fast that Samson looks gobsmacked by the performance. He waits until the last word is spoken and bites his lip.

"You women think too much," he admits, and he scratches his head, "are you sure Cullen wouldn't be better to…"

Phillipa pounces forward and shakes Samson's shoulders, her face contorted into one of an insane convict, "No! I _can't_ talk to Cullen! He would… I don't know… hit me!"

"Hit you?" Samson laughs, "I wouldn't mind watching."

Phillipa pulls some of his hair as it's impossible to hurt anyone in armour. She wasn't sure Cullen would actually get violent but he would no doubt get insurmountably angry.

Samson grabs her wrist and let's go just as fast. "Why the in name of shit are you pondering the Maker's existence?" he wonders, "are you writing philosophical essays back and forth? Are you helping Maddox with study?"

The girl takes in a deliberate, deep breath. "He brought some facts to my attention. It…" she tries to ignore the look of disorientation of Samson's face, "it deeply saddened me. The behaviour cannot be justified. I'm not sure how to make him feel better about it. If the Maker wished it, even if his reasoning cannot be understood, does that really make it ok?"

"The Maker does whatever he wants." Samson sighed, "If believing in him gives you comfort, that is a good thing."

Phillipa sighs in relief. It is a comfort that she isn't completely crazy. She realizes how incredibly weak she is confessing her sorrows. "Even so, I really shouldn't reply to the letter. I feel like if I did it would be like running down a mountain and going too fast to stop."

"Then don't reply," Samson grumbles exasperated.

"But I want to," Phillipa answers.

"You said before you didn't know what to say, but you are a determined girl, I'll give you that," Samson massages his temples, "which is it?"

"I think it will make me feel better to reply." Phillipa admits, "maybe if I'm really careful the conversation will slow down and fade away on its own."

Samson nods, clearly out of ideas. He looks as though he'd read an entire textbook in thirty minutes. Why had he agreed to speak to her at all? 

"Why are _you_ getting involved in all this?" Phillipa questions as she walks slowly around Samson in a circle, "It's awfully generous of you."

"You're a nice person," Samson says honestly, and the two Templars catch eyes, "so is Maddox. Common sense, really."

"You and Cullen don't have the same definition of common sense." Phillipa points out coyly.

Samson shrugs. "You and I might agree on something then." He starts heading to the door, "Why are _you_ replying to the letters?"

"There's no harm in replying if it doesn't go too far." Phillipa says, trying to convince herself rather than the man opposite her.

Samson opens the door and Phillipa leaves with far more inner strength then when she came in.

"Exactly," he finishes.

Phillipa considers saying 'Thank you' and mentioning that Samson is a genuinely nice person. Perhaps she even considers him a friend.

After a lot of thinking, she prepares a letter to pass on the next morning.


	6. Chapter 6

Dear Maddox,

I'm sorry for taking a while to reply. Have you been well?

Your letter really upset me. Perhaps I am a fool but I had only heard rumors of these horrible occurrences. I didn't want to believe them.

If you can promise to keep this between us, I would like to speak to you in person. There is a lot I want to say and I don't think it can be conveyed in a letter. Perhaps you will be able to help me.

Sincerely,

Phillipa.

As she awaits the reply she feels very nervous. Whenever she sees Meredith in the halls she feels even more so, but she does not stray from etiquette. The Knight Commander suspects nothing.

Her charges are learning so quickly. They focus incredibly well considering their age. Her pride for their accomplishments does not lessen, in fact, it keeps her distracted.

* * *

She sets out to Hightown with Cullen to procure a new member of the Circle.

"Samson tells me he is still sending letters," Cullen begins carefully. He peers uneasily at his friend, "I… I am beyond worried for you at this point, Phillipa. Perhaps I misjudged your character but I thought you had more self-control."

"We're not writing about anything  _inappropriate_." Phillipa is quick to her defense. She loves the feel of the cool air and sun on her skin, and is not bothered by the conversation. Cullen was a dear friend to be concerned for her welfare. The girl is elated to speak of Maddox.

"That is beside the point." Cullen confirms with as much force as his stride, "What if you get caught?"

"What if we don't?" Phillipa suggests back. It was an automatic reaction, but a truthful one too.

Cullen picks at his stubble, an odd habit of his, "You are not thinking straight, Phillipa. What is it that is so alluring about this mage? You know better than this. What would you have done if _I_  was the one passing letters?"

The girl stops in her tracks for a moment and stares at the bustle of Kirkwall citizens in the market ahead. She has to think before she can answer the question, and she doesn't meet Cullen's eye as he tries to find meaning in her silence.

"I would wonder what had gotten into you," Phillipa admits.

Cullen waves his arms in defeat. "There we go, there's a constructive thought, Phillipa. Let me ask you the same: What  _has_  gotten into you?"

Indeed. What had? Mages were off limits to Templars. She knew this, yet... 

"He is very clever and incredibly interesting," Phillipa says in a rush, as though if she says it fast enough Cullen would get confused and give up.

They weave through a crowd of market shoppers and continue on to the next street. There is more shade here. It cools her head as well as her skin.

Cullen does not question her further. In fact, for a good twenty steps he says nothing at all. They try to pinpoint the exact location of where this mage is located, enjoying the breeze. It is the house in the corner of the next block. There is not much travelling to go.

"I am beyond worried, Phillipa," he repeats. He doesn't look at her. The girl simply watches the symbol on the back of his armor, "deeply, deeply worried."

Phillipa feels the full impact of his words and the horrible guilt to go with it.

* * *

Samson finds her in the corridor of sleeping quarters. They speak in Samson's room, since Cullen is off using the showers. The man has a stern expression on his face, weary, as though he hasn't slept.

'He says meet him in the same place as last time." Samson says dully.

"What took you so long?!" Phillipa blurts out, her voice cracking like a whip. Cullens words had hovered over her head all day. If Cullen was worried, there was definitely something off in the lies she was telling herself.

"I had to play the comforting friend to Maddox as well." He grumbles, "Don't get mad. At least he can talk better than you."

"I take that as praise, thank you." Phillipa says stiffly, with more sarcasm than she had ever used. The blonde fidgets with her hands, "Do Cullen's lectures bother you?"

"Not really." Samson crosses his arms, and his voice turns highly amused, "I can kick him in the balls if you want."

"I – tempting – but no." Phillipa nearly spits on her friend. "Do you think this has gotten out of hand?"

"No." Samson says firmly, "Do you?"

"No, not yet." Phillipa starts speaking at top speed again, "I mean, it's not like I'm… It's not like I  _want_  to be his friend!"

At last, the goody two shoes Phillipa Evitt had uttered the worst lie in the history of the Circle. She wants to get to know Maddox better, and she hates that she feels that way.

Samson flexes his knuckles. He peers at his bedside cabinet for a second before exploding. "It's just a fucking letter, Phillipa." he warns, "By Andraste's fake tits! Go fucking talk to him, and put an  _end to this_ if you're so bloody frantic."

"Fine, fine, I will!" Phillipa hurries.

Samson seems pleased to see her go.

When Zoe asks, the girl explains that she is going for a walk and feels somewhat comforted that at least  _that_  wasn't a  _complete_  lie.

* * *

The bookcase near the magical stock room is just as organized as Phillipa remembers. She keeps her dressing gown firmly wrapped around her waist, as though afraid it will spontaneously fall apart. She looks over her shoulder, expecting Maddox to appear in a puff of smoke behind her. She brought the letter so she could remember what to say. She looks at it nervously. She had to end this. It wasn't  _right_  that Maddox was clever and interesting. Cullen was  _right_  to be worried about her.

A candle is lit some feet away, and the mage's face is illuminated by it.

"Prepare to meet your demise, silly Templar fiend!" he cackles.

Phillipa giggles, but stifles it. She paces toward him. Maddox pulls up a chair.

"Sit down, if you dare." He warns. The girl audibly laughs this time.

"You're being incredibly amiable for someone who just wants some questions answered."

She takes a seat and places her hands in her lap. Maddox raises his eyebrows, "Am I not allowed to?"

"That depends." Phillipa says slowly. No, she ought to remember what she came here for. She forces herself to look at the paper instead of the mage's cheeky smile. "I thought a great deal about it and I've decided that I still believe in the Maker," she peers at him, "maybe I question His motives a little, but I still think it is better to believe in Him for the chance that He is good."

Maddox crosses his legs. His mages robes really don't suit him, "I guess if I don't believe in the Maker, I can believe in you instead."

"Believe in  _me_?" Phillipa repeats before she can stop herself, "I… I don't understand why."

"Why not?" Maddox wonders, "You seem to respect your father. How is it different?"

"The Maker must be far more intelligent than I am," Phillipa reasons, "I - I'm not worthy."

"Well, I can't see him, so I believe in you." Maddox concludes, "That can give me some piece of mind at night."

"I'm just a… Fereldan person." Phillipa says lamely. "You don't even know me."

"I know enough." Maddox says. He leans forward, "I can see the influence you have on the people around you. That is far stronger proof than you know."

Phillipa gulps and looks down at the letter, "I chose to come here because I thought that was the best way to spread the Maker's kindness, on those who feel alone."

"You don't miss your father?" Maddox inquires.

Phillipa shakes her head. "At first, but not anymore," the girl answers, "I can write to him." her hands tremble, "I'm sorry about your friends. I send them my deepest sympathies."

"I wish there was a way to stop it," Maddox admits, "but Meredith doesn't listen. She might as well be one of those monsters."

"It is very sad." Phillipa mentions. "but uh… as much as I enjoy writing to you… we…"

"I know what you're going to say." Maddox shrugs. He moves his chair closer to her. "and it's alright. We can end this after tonight."

"Good." Phillipa sighs in relief. Now nothing could go wrong. They would resume their normal lives like the two had never crossed paths. It feels less intimidating now, even if they are in next to total blackness.

"I do want to ask one question," Maddox pauses, "what did you think of my trick?"

"Err… why is that important?" Phillipa asks, "It was just to be funny, wasn't it?"

"I want to try impress someone with it." Maddox begins, keeping his eyes on her, "so I want to check if there is anything I should do differently."

Phillipa pauses, considering his question thoughtfully. "You could have bowed at the end." she finishes.

"Great!" Maddox laughs, and not leaving her gaze, he gives a short bow.

"Very good!" Phillipa smiles, but Maddox looks sad. He peers at his knees.

"I know better than anyone that I'm an idiot," he moves closer to her. This time, Phillipa notices. He reaches out and hesitates, waiting. "I wish Sileas had warned me you would be beautiful."

Phillipa turns pink and can't reply. She makes a noise, a protest against his affection. Maddox bites his lip and runs the back of his fingers along the Templar's half exposed thigh.  _Now_  it was inappropriate. Now was the time for action.

"I'm  _not_!" she protests, "I have pimples on the side of my face, see!"

The light does not illuminate the blemishes, but she tries anyway. The mage laughs. "You're not convincing me."

Phillipa makes another unintelligible sound.

Maddox trembles from amusement. He stands up and sits on Phillipa's lap instead. "Now I can protect your modesty." 

She blurts out another utterance of distrust and Maddox waits for her to make sense.

The Templar breathes heavily, blushing furiously. Overwhelmed with how close he is, she can't help but question his intentions for touching and interacting with her. Was he in love or simply lewd? 

"Stop dazzling me!" she exclaims loudly, filed with more sadness than anger, "This is  _your_  fault!  _You_  were the one who just  _appeared_  in my life. I don't even  _– this is stupid_! I hate these  _stupid_  rules!  _I'm_  not doing anything wrong!"

"I didn't know I did," Maddox admits. He stands up, "but I'll stop. It's ok, Phillipa. You're too well behaved to break the rules. It is better you don't."

Yes, this was the right time to leave. Phillipa gets to her feet but does not feel strong. She feels weaker than ever, as though she'd lost a lot of blood, like she is about to collapse. The two bore into each other's eyes and Phillipa wants to scream. If he just wore her armor there wouldn't be all the stress. They could just talk, like Samson and Phillipa had been. The division between the two parties was wrong.

It is only as she waves goodbye she realizes she enjoyed the brief correspondence.

"I'm going to miss the letters, Maddox." Phillipa laments, and puts the note in her dressing gown pocket. She pulls away from his eyes, full of more than sadness or regret, but admiration, and feels more conflicted with every step she takes away from him.

The single candle is blown out.


	7. Chapter 7

As Phillipa heads back to her room she feels as though she is walking in the wrong direction. The walls and tiles look different. The hallways are unfamiliar and cold, threatening her courage with harsh shadows. Her head spins constantly, shouts insults, saying what she should have done, reminding of what she shouldn't have indulged. Maddox is enticed by her, yet this is not an alarming fact. It saddens her instead, keeps her shivering even when she is not numb from the chill.

The self assured part of Phillipa she is so familiar with disappears around the corner with the lanterns. 

Instead of her own quarters, she knocks on Samson's, only half aware Cullen must be inside. She isn't sure why but guesses that if anyone would have an idea as to how to reel in her true intentions it would be them.

Samson swings it open. The two meet eyes. Cullen peers curiously from on his bed, reading a book. She is dubious of what to say, so finds amenity in Samson's serene gaze.

The Templars guess the girl is not all together judging by how their expressions flounder.

"Would you like to come inside?" Samson asks, his voice gravely even when he is polite.

Phillipa doesn't nod, but she lets her feet flop loudly on the floor as she enters. The door shuts with a squeak. She softly lowers herself to the ground and Cullen stares at her, troubled. If only he wouldn't.

"D-Did something happen, Phillipa?" Cullen demands.

Phillipa raises an eyebrow at him, amazed. Yet, somewhere inside she understands. He couldn't possibly know that she had visited the mage. Samson was such a loyal friend. As the man crouches down next to her, it comes to her attention that the two of them were in their nightclothes. The white shirt with shorts suited them very well.

"No more letters." She mutters finally.

The bright lantern light perfectly illuminates their features, for better or worse. There is a fraction of a second where Cullen appears pleasantly surprised. "I'll be upfront, I am relieved, but you appear… erm… agitated."

Samson does not speak, but looks into her eyes with patience, waiting for her. He hardly blinks.

"I am an utter imbecile." She continues, anger rolling off her tongue as though it is her first language, "I  _liked_  the letters."

Cullen smirks, "I think you liked  _more_  than the letters."

"Be quiet, you fathead!" Phillipa spits. Cullen was the one who had been strict, even if it was in good heart. Why does he make fun of her now? It is the first time she finds him bothersome.

Samson snorts. "Say something else. Your insults are hilarious."

"Samson!" Cullen retorts, turning red.

She smiles appreciatively; her gaunt cheekbones no longer make her seem like a prisoner in the Deep Roads, and try to think back on what the normal Phillipa would say.

"If the Maker wished it, then it must be for the best."

It may be true, but for once, she did not like hearing it.

"There she is." Cullen's expression brightens, "welcome back, dear girl."

* * *

Life returns to normal, or at least, it does to the spectators around her. Cullen is pleased that his sister's childhood friend is no longer mingling with people she shouldn't. Their talks resume their cheerfulness and fervor, all talk of mages forgotten, her focus is restored and she doesn't have to lie about the papers she is keeping. Samson is the only one who behaves any different. He seems calmer, although curious. If her friend has questions, he doesn't ask. When Phillipa sees Maddox in corridors, she pretends she doesn't see him, although she looks back after he has crossed her. If that is the end of their consort it does not leave a too bitter a taste in the mouth. Indeed, the stray thoughts were fewer, like left over autumn leaves still floating in a pond, but still visible.

Then the dreams came. Maker, she wishes they never did. In them the mage made reappearance. They merely spoke of ordinary subjects, and the day's events in the library, but it made the Circle a less lonely place to be. That is, until she awoke and was reminded of the one person she was forbidden to converse with. Not speaking with whom she wanted was a frustration she had trouble verbalizing. It could not be wrong if it was just on friendly terms. Phillipa withheld her dissatisfaction with every person she spoke, for days on end, until it started to come through on her face.

"You look more depressed than those elves in the Alienage." Zoe mentions one morning, "It's abnormal. Tell me what's wrong."

Phillipa contemplates lying to save her poor soul of condemnation against the Maker, but she finds her mouth opens of its own accord. "Find a potion that can make me forget about Maddox and I will be the best Templar the Free Marches has ever seen."

"The weirdo who tried to trick you?" Zoe raises her eyebrows in dismay. The only time Zoe had seen Phillipa upset was if a Harrowing had gone wrong. This upset had never been seen before. "If there was one I doubt anyone would let you prepare it."

"What is left for me to do, Zoe?" Phillip asks, "It is so hard to forget a person when you cross them in the halls every day."

"This is why they say it is not a good idea to converse with mages outside your charges, if at all," Zoe explains, "I blame the mage. He started this."

"Blame him or not, I cannot deny I am unhappy about it." Phillipa says angrily. She grabs her pillow and presses it down with her hands, "He was kind to me and I want to get to know him better."

"Fine! If you won't stop making that frowny face at me write him a letter, but you can't be seen talking with him, no matter how tempting it is," Zoe warns, "Meredith will notice sooner or later."

"No." Phillipa agrees. She feels a renewed likeness for her roommate since she is not completely denying her request, "I won't be seen talking to him at all."

She takes out some parchment and a quill from her draw and gets off her bed to cross the room. The desk sits in the corner, and is rarely used except when writing to family. Not anymore.

"Before you start," Zoe says quickly, eying her friend with suspicion, "tell me you know what you're getting yourself into."

Phillipa starts to write Maddox's name with as curvy lettering as she can manage "Really, Zoe, you know me better than that."

Zoe closes her mouth as Phillipa writes. As true as the statement is, there is something different in Phillipa's heart as she writes. It isn't like when she writes a report. There are firmer curves to the strokes on the paper. The blonde Templar is aware that her actions are likely to result in far graver consequences than what she can imagine, but she does not anticipate the voice in her head that continuously interrupts with 'I don't care'.

Dear Maddox,

Curse the Maker! I am so frustrated that I was not able to beat every last ounce of desire out of me to write this letter. I survived a few weeks, at least. Does that make you feel proud? Do you feel like you've succeeded in something?

I'm sorry for getting angry, it is more at myself. Please forgive me.

Even though we do not know each other very well, I can't help but want to get to know you better. I pondered what you said about how you admired and believed in me – that you wanted to understand my unwavering faith in the Circle. I've decided I have a similar interest in you. I like  _your_  approach to the Circle. I admire your ability to disregard the rules and cause mayhem. It takes bravery, a different kind of mental fortitude than to follow them. Perhaps it is because I adhere so strongly to the rules that I admire your ability to break them.

What am I getting at here? Here you must be thinking I am so ridiculous.

Please tell me how you've been. Has Chandler been tolerable?

I look forward to hearing from you,

Phillipa

As the girl slips the letter into an envelope she feels lighter than she has in a while.

* * *

"Should I get a list of new developments?" Samson wonders with a mild hint of sarcasm. Phillipa holds out the envelope. They meet in a corridor this time. It helps to vary the locations of letter smuggling. Yes, of course Samson would want to know if anything had changed. It was very impressive that he had not demanded to know the contents of every single exchange.

"When it makes sense in my head I will let you know." She explains.

Samson appears doubtful but he takes the letter off his friend. "I don't know if it helps to know this but Maddox says very nice things about you."

"Has he said much else?" Phillipa demands, in shock of how interested she is.

"I'm sure he'll write," Samson says with a curious glint in his eye. "Once he gets his hands out of his robes."

Phillipa hits Samson's shoulder with an angry exclamation of his name and the scruffy man simply laughs in response.

* * *

The girl receives the reply that very evening, as she is about to retire to bed. Samson knocks on the door of her quarters and Phillipa answers.

"Mail man taking a night stroll." He mentions as the paper makes its ways into Phillipa's desperate fingers. The blonde wonders why Samson doesn't just slide the note under the door but it is made clear by the wave of his now letter free hand.

"Hello cuteness - Maker's ball's! - I mean, hello Zoe."

Zoe laughs and actually waves back, "Hello Samson, you handsome idiot. Oh,  _whoopsie_ , my  _mistake_."

The last part is heavy sarcasm, but Samson seems to appreciate it none the less. "Have a nice night, girls."

With a small smile the door closes.

Phillipa is curious as to whether Zoe was serious in her compliment, but hurries over to the desk to read and respond to the letter.

Phillipa,

Honestly I wasn't expecting a response so I was more overjoyed than usual to hear from you. I don't think I have achieved anything except remind myself of how lovely you are. I was pretty sure I'd scared you away.

I am very confused as to why you consider me admirable by any stretch of the imagination. My antics are a constant source of annoyance for Chandler. He keeps threatening to sizzle off the last of my very short hair, at least twice a day. I admit it is fun, but it  _is_  probably going to get me into a  _lot_  of trouble. The First-Enchanter knows me by name, and  _that_  can't be a good sign.

I'm not sure I'd recommend my lifestyle to anyone, much less  _you_  of all people. I do it because, well, life is scary. People die all the time and bad things happen, so it doesn't seem worth spending perfectly good time when you are healthy  _not_  having fun?

I should add that putting my faith in you, in the hope that more people like you exist, makes life less terrifying. It almost makes me want to stop being as reckless.

I have been having odd dreams about you. They seem perfectly innocent, though. We just talk. I keep wondering if a demon is out to get me. Maybe  _you're_  a demon disguised as something wonderful. It would explain a great deal. ;-)

How's  _that_  for ridiculous? Have I made you feel better about yourself?

I'd like to hear more about your life back in Fereldan. How does it differ from what you've seen here?

Maddox

She responds in a hurry and barely has time to brush her teeth before she falls to sleep.

* * *

"You're smiling more than usual if that's possible," Samson says. Phillipa reaches his door before they head down to breakfast, too excited to pass the message on. Cullen spots her from his bed and gives a stern nod, his eyes fixed on the envelope. She expects a lecture right then, but does not receive it. Phillipa hands him the letter. Every time this happens she feels an ever increasing elation. "I really do appreciate it, Samson."

"What did he write?" Samson wonders, as he nearly crushes the paper with his fist, "Maybe I can try whatever it was on Zoe."

"Oh, it has nothing to do with the letter." Phillipa responds gleefully, "I had an interesting dream, that's all."

Samson looks at her funny and Cullen starts putting on his armour.

"Do you mean  _interesting_  as in…" the man makes a highly suggestive motion with his hands.

Phillipa laughs and shakes her head, "Of course not." She pauses, " _that_  would be a cause for concern."

She mentions this for Cullen rather than Samson, but the blond was not convinced. As he reaches the door Cullen raises a steely eyebrow at her, one that is devoid of forgiveness. Phillipa realizes then that Cullen is beginning to get mad at her, but she doesn't want to bring it up. Neither does he.

"Excuse me, Phillipa, Samson," he says roughly, and the two disperse of the door.

"See you down there, brother." Samson mentions.

Cullen nods and hurries off.

"He does not seem happy with me." Phillipa says.

"He's not happy with  _me_." Samson corrects. The vague morning glow makes his skin look almost holy.

Phillipa feels her mouth stretch into an uncomfortable mix between a fearful gasp and a frown, "I know I'm doing something wrong."

"Then stop." Samson mentions. He knew where this conversation would lead. It had happened before.

"No." she disagrees, and she starts to make odd sounds "I know this is immoral. It goes against everything I believe in. The Maker will want my head, but I  _want_  to know him. I… I feel like I've never really  _wanted_  anything. I do my duty to the Maker and that gives me all the peace of mind in the world. I have family, friends, but never this. It feels  _good_  to want something."

Samson grins. To Phillipa's surprise, he pats her on the shoulder. "So long as this makes you happy, I'll keep passing letters. It seems stupid not to."

The thank you Phillipa utters isn't loud enough to convey how strongly it warms her chest.


	8. Chapter 8

In the Gallows one could never avoid anyone for too long, especially where the library is concerned.

There are six other Templars positioned around the shelves like ghosts.

Phillipa focuses on her chargers throughout the morning, trying to ponder on anything but the mage she is smitten by.

Her charges are reading about fire spells. The Templar lowers her gaze to a page on a similar topic. She enjoys immersing herself in what her mages are in case they need assistance. It is revision though important regardless.

Primal spells.

Harnessing the power of the elements.

Even at their most basic form, the risks are great.

Phillipa prides herself in the ability to keep focused. She succeeds once again. Feeling unconcerned, she paces to a far bookshelf, the smallest on fiction, and withdraws a novel loosely derived on Andraste's known childhood and sits a table away from her charges, a statue.

Maddox enters with Chandler after she finishes the fifth chapter. Unable to resist, her eyes dart to meet his.

The young lady wraps her fingers tighter around the edges of the book.

Apprentice mages need to learn, she reminds herself.

In order to learn books are incredibly helpful.

The two share a demure smile before she turns her seat away, blocking the mage from view.

It is not clear if her charges notice or whether they wish to talk about it.

* * *

The Templar is eager to hear from Samson in the dining hall and finds him in line with a plate in his hand. Much to the woman's surprise, Samson urges that they sit alone without the company of their roommates.

Bizarre, yes, though not criminal. Phillipa joins the end of the line and listens to the conversation of the Templars in front of her.

"I swear it. Even with stretching and rest these cramps are not going to leave me alone."

"Have you boiled water for a hot bath?"

"I hate doing that. It takes so long."

"I can help."

Phillipa watches Samson as the kitchen workers scoop a large helping of vegetable stew into his bowl.

When it is done, they sit close to the steamy kitchens, where it is the noisiest and the tables are smaller.

It feels out of place to sit here. The two must look like they are on a date. Samson's jaw is tensed and his teeth are almost bared, the grey of his eyes piercing through the humidity.

"I bet Cullen wants to poison me in my sleep," he mutters, "his tone reminds me of my father."

Is he talking about the letters? There is little other explanation.

Phillipa purses her lips, somewhat confused. "You haven't told me about your family."

Samson shrugs and lets his elbow lightly bang on the table, "There isn't much to say. He was at work a lot. I could have been a piece of furniture for all the difference it made."

The woman realizes she doesn't feel hungry and wants to pat Samson's shoulder. "How was your day?"

"Tiresome. Amery keeps teasing me about Zoe."

Phillipa is surprised to hear this, but not because of Samson being teased. Amery is one of Samson's charges. Since he is older he needs much more attention than other mages, similar to Maddox.

Meredith must have thought Samson would benefit from managing a more challenging case.

"You've disclosed your personal life with him?" she utters, incredulous.

The man snorts. "He wouldn't shut up. It was better that way."

"But…" Phillipa tries to think of the right words, "You're not _supposed_ to do that."

"Really, Meredith wouldn't give a rat's ass." Samson smirks, his grin creating a dimple on either side of his face, "so I don't either."

The blonde is about to change the subject when the man adds, "Why aren't you dating, Cullen?"

At first Phillipa is mildly offended but she reasons it quick.

"The same reason I am not dating _anyone_." she answers plainly. It is true, though she understands Samson's point. She and Cullen are similar. Her life would be easier to be spurned by him instead. He is not an unattractive man. More importantly he is kind and shares her values. Somehow, she fails to separate Cullen from the concept of _Mia's brother._

She remembers his reclusive nature and how easily he blushes, even now.

"My brother would rather collect donations for the Chantry than ask a girl on a date." Mia's joking voice echoes from a memory, although Phillipa decides this is because Cullen went through puberty late.

They are similar in this way too.

Perhaps Cullen holds interest in girls now. Phillipa is not sure for she never asks, though Cullen still blushes with any mention of the subject.

She rests a hand on Samson's shoulder. "Did the _mage_ tell you anything new?"

She emphases the word to indicate a change of subject and her friend understands.

"Nothing." The man raises his head and pushes Phillipa's hand off, "I wouldn't bawl your eyes out, yet. He's not finished with you. He makes an effort to befriend Amery, anyhow."

"Why does that mean anything?" Phillipa asks.

Samson lifts his eyebrows, suggestively. "It means he is plotting something."

The steam from the kitchens matches the fog to her internal confusion. The woman responds with a quizzical look, but Samson's expression is definite.

They rise from their seats to find the usual table with Cullen and Zoe.

* * *

Phillipa keeps all talk of the mage to herself and focuses on her work, which is an effective strategy for staying on the good sides of Zoe and Cullen, avoiding a mage or not. Her dreams of Maddox continue and her longing intensifies, but she approaches the feelings like her studies.

She repeatedly disregards the demon, the one mages are forbidden to endorse. Phillipa swears she has become one of her charges, only now undergoing a Harrowing.

Maddox's plot becomes clear in three night's time. She turns over in bed as there is a knock on the door.

 _Is that Samson?_ Phillipa wonders. She slowly climbs out of bed and as careful as possible tip toes to the door. _Worse, has Cullen sensed my thoughts and is going to reprimand me?_

She opens the door.

The Templar loses all words as Maddox waves at her, his features a murky bluish grey from the dark. It becomes apparent how much of a height difference there is between them.

"What are you doing?" Phillipa hisses, peering behind her to see if Zoe had woken.

"I came to see you." Maddox's mouths the words silently.

Phillipa shakes her head.

Maddox slowly reaches forward and links his fingers with hers, "If we get caught I'll take the blame." His voice is lower than a whisper. "I have a plan."

The blonde hears the idea in full before she reluctantly agrees. Both in their night wear, the mage brings her to an empty room a floor and a corridor away. With a click of Maddox's fingers the wall opens, to Phillipa's amazement. She and the other Templar's do not know there is anything here.

"All mages use this room." He murmurs, "I figure it's perfect."

Phillipa sighs. Maddox must trust her if he is going to give away a Kirkwall Circle secret.

The two only use their normal voices once they are safely locked inside. Maddox starts a small fire in a lantern with a spell, illuminating the corner well enough to perceive emotion.

It is a very small room, not made of much of anything except grey, glossy tiles.

They sit on the floor. It is cold.

"Why not just write?" Phillipa says.

"If I did that I wouldn't be able to admire you, now would i?" Maddox answers immediately.

Phillipa rolls her eyes. Maddox laughs and for the first time since meeting him appears mildly uncomfortable.

"I know you said you didn't want to see me again, and I'm sorry, but I just…. Have an overwhelming curiosity coupled with horrible self-control. I suspect I have been having the same dreams," the mage explains, "I didn't think it would be right to explain it in detail in a letter. It makes me wonder how much of it reflects your genuine desires, or how much of it is the same."

This time the woman blushes although she tries not to give him an approving smile. "I could be playing along just to get you in trouble. Have you ever thought of that?"

The man's confidence returns in a flash and he nearly glows with certitude.

"If that were you true you would have done so the first moment I talked to you." Maddox counters. "Your letter tells me otherwise."

Phillipa hesitates, unsure of how to respond. Everything Maddox says is true. She knows she has taken this too far and she _still_ isn't keeping away. It is probably obvious to everyone that she falters in self-discipline, and just because Maddox would take the blame wouldn't make the wrongs go away.

"How does this room work?"

"Honesty system. Write a blot of ink on a page to indicate what day we want to use it." Maddox says, "It's been around for years and years. It's got a legacy of its own among the mages. Like everyone else who uses the room, I trust you to keep it secret."

The Templar tries to smile. It is incredible that the mage has shown her this, though she can no longer tell the Knight Commander about it without explaining the rest of the story and getting in trouble for that.

In her eyes the discomfort speaks louder than any words.

She peers at the wall behind Maddox's shoulder, trying to think of how the Phillipa in writing would answer.

"I have never felt so strongly about someone before." She mutters, fiddling with her fingers. "Just a small part of me wishes I wasn't a Templar so then I could do what I wanted. At the same time… I will be strict with you if I must." She adds.

Maddox nods understandably and edges closer to her. In slow motion Phillipa watches alert, as though predicting the movements of a possessed student. As such she is disbelieving when smoke or fire does not billow from his hands. The moment the mage's palm rests to the side of her face her heart halts. His eyes are bright with intensity, but he continues, moving even slower. Like she is an architectural wonder, he traces her cheekbone with a single finger. Still, perhaps from her training, it is hard to believe he intends no harm.

Phillipa's breathing augments. Never before has she let someone get so close. Her hand snaps to his, daring to control him, threatening to end the exchange. She ought to make it stop. The part of her that is weak deserves a lashing.

 _Those who oppose thee shall know the wrath of heaven,_ she recites in her head, but even the Chant offers her no strength. Unwavering, she tries again, _With passion'd breath does the darkness creep. It is the whisper in the night, the lie upon your sleep._

The beautiful words have no power over Phillipa, and they do not catch her when she falls. Perhaps the words are wrong. She aims to always make them fit. Perhaps she does not need to use them.

 _Is it possible I am falling for him?_ She wonders to herself, admiring the mage before her. _Are there circumstances in life where enchantments offer no protection?_

The young lady follows Maddox's unwavering stare as it follows the path of his fingertip.

There is little choice. She is disappearing into his eyes.

Reluctantly, left otherwise without safety, she starts to have faith in him, the same hope he finds in her.

Slowly, his touch warms and she lets him go, closing her eyes so she can forget she ought to burn in the Black City.

Phillipa wishes she could be set free, but she refuses to move. Her fingers are locked together in her lap, but she relaxes as Maddox draws patterns along her forehead, hairline, ears, nose and finally resting on her mouth. Even covering such a small surface Phillipa feels herself shudder.

 _He is so gentle._ She thinks, and for a moment she feels protected.

In that same moment the blonde is unsure what to do. She clenches her teeth together, not wanting to give in to him.

Maddox adds another finger except it trails down her chin and onto her hand.

"Are you mad?" he asks.

Phillipa shakes her head.

"Sad, then?"

She nods.

"Why?" Maddox probes.

There is a pause before Phillipa answers.

"I'm scared." She takes a deep breath and allows Maddox to thread his hand onto hers, "I c-can't move. The Maker can't protect me from you."

This isn't how her dreams happened. There she could be free to do as she wished without any concern for the consequences. Here there are so many punishments for engaging in this dream.

Not meaning to, tears fill her eyes, but she does not grant them the grace to fall. Her eyelids flutter despite being shut.

"If the Maker protects anyone," Maddox whispers, "I hope He watches you."

"I dearly beg for it." Phillipa explains. Her voice finally breaks and her vulnerability is exposed. There is fear. Pure, uncontainable fear… though she knows why it rests with her. It is because she loves her dreams. She enjoys the closeness in her sleeping hours. The sentiment is more powerful than fear. It is the lingering fortitude that she wants it to be real. "Could you show me what you dreamed about?"

The man hesitates, not bothering to wipe her tears. "Will it make you sadder?"

"It makes no difference." The blonde replies, "I have fought hard to keep you out of my mind and it is destroying me."

At last the two worlds find a meeting point. The experiences combine to uncover the truth. The dreaming and waking worlds desire to co-exist, but they cannot. The mage and Templar want to interact, though it is not permitted.

This conflict is overcoming.

There is a silence so daring it nearly crackles with static.

"Easy." Maddox responds.

As he raises her hand the woman shakes, only returning to stillness as his lips reach her knuckles. Warmth sneaks down her fingers to her spine.

Phillipa yearns for the mage to break the spell, wishes the Maker would grant her this blessing without condemnation. She sighs in rapture but still keeps her eyes closed, her skin practically aching for more.

The mage's breath reaches her face and she knows what is coming next.

"Are you sure?" he whispers, but it is much louder because he is so close.

Phillipa nods. She knows she is not permitted to want this, though she does not think the alternative is constructive either. He is so close she doesn't care. He is so close there remain only a plea and a need for her heart to be fulfilled.

She welcomes his kiss. It is soft, gentle and delicate like within their shared minds, though it feels so much more exquisite in the flesh compared to how she remembers the dream.

The man gently touches her hair, as though a glass ornament he is forbidden to touch. In a way, the Templar is.

She is precious to him.

They do not stay for long afterwards but the kiss lingers in her mind as she returns to her quarters.

Phillipa is pleased that Zoe believes her 'gone to the washroom' story. She wonders how long it will take her to figure it out, although Phillipa also is doubtful that she will be able to keep it a secret from her roommate.

She dreams peacefully that night, for she dreams of nothing at all.


	9. Chapter 9

For the next series of letters Maddox and Phillipa arrange, their writing alternates between their usual questions and news, and other times daydreams and theorizing about what should become of them. Those had no easy answers. The Templar, of course, keeps reminding herself to stay clear of him. At other times, she gives into her temptation. It is difficult to say which one makes her happier, for in both she is trapped by her role.

By noting all her thoughts to Maddox, the blonde keeps news of their kiss secret for a month. In those four weeks, her magnetism to the mage only increases.

Samson is the first to find out, "Good for you."

They are pacing Lowtown, looking for more mages. It is the best time as any to have a private conversation, although the woman finds his lack of emotion disquieting. Kissing is worthy of more excitement!

"That's the best answer you can give me?" Phillipa asks, "I wish my brain was as simple as yours."

"It isn't, really," the brunet says, "I just talk about what goes on in my head a lot less."

They speak about their charges and Cullen for a while. Every mental debate the blonde could possibly conjure has been discussed countless times, so she doesn't bother anymore. Eventually, Samson mentions something that Phillipa will never forget.

"You're happier this way," he says, as they pass underneath some trees. "You act more like a human. I can hear it in your voice."

The girl can't figure out how this would sound in a person, but perhaps it isn't the sort of detail she is supposed to notice.

"You still act like Darkspawn," Phillipa tries to joke, but she thinks Samson snorts because it was a bad one. He shakes out his hands from exhaustion.

"I keep wondering something," the man says thoughtfully, peering over at an oddly shaped bed of flowers.

"What is that?" Phillipa grumbles, suspecting the worst.

"Does Maddox…" Samson peers over at her and grins, "make you feel dirty? Do you think you'll need to visit the Chantry for your sins anytime soon?"

"What?" the girl snaps. Count on that fool to bring up the unclean subjects.

Her friend's grin gets wider. "You heard me. Do you feel like breaking your vows?"

Celibacy vows. When Templar friends meet each other, it is a conversation that happens early, usually once initiates have reached the age of puberty. Girls are provided the choice of taking a vow once they experience menarche. Boys can around 13, depending on how fast they are growing. It is as exciting and essential as asking who your roommate is. Who made vows and who didn't is a very important detail to uncover about a person. It indicates who is 'free' and who isn't, but more interesting is the rationale behind taking the vows in the first place. It created a divide among the Templars from a political standpoint, and sometimes it had even broken up friendships.

"I'd never do…. That!" Phillipa gasps, unable to figure out what term she wants to use, "By Andraste's Holy Flames, I don't understand why you doubt me!"

"I don't doubt you," Samson acknowledges. They walk a tad faster, their third house fast approaching. "You're mistaken. I didn't ask _if_ you'd do it or not. I asked if he _made_ you _feel_ like doing it _with_ him."

"No," Phillipa retorts defiantly, "I'm not as small minded as you, Samson."

Her friend picks up on her reservation so tries to be comforting.

"It's not small minded to _feel_ something," Samson explains carefully, "it's not the same as thinking something. The thoughts are kindling for feelings. T _hat's_ what makes them powerful."

There is wisdom in Samson's words, but the girl didn't register them. The blonde Templar is the one to knock on the door and request the mage gives herself up to the Gallows. Phillipa doesn't realize for a very long time that in that conversation she had been lying to herself.

* * *

She tells Zoe next, and her roommate does something peculiarly strange. They were reading in their room, and her friend walks up to her and knocks her on the head with a heavy encyclopedia.

"Zoe!" Phillipa groans, rubbing her head, "You said you'd be kind to me."

"I am." Zoe says shortly, "Just checking you weren't in the clouds."

"What's wrong with the clouds?" the blonde demands, "they are beautiful!"

Zoe pauses and chuckles, "Flawless reasoning. I'm sorry," It wasn't clear if she was joking. She hands Phillipa the book; "You can hit me back."

The blonde proceeds to whack Zoe in the jaw. In is such a powerful hit that Zoe bites her lip and makes it bleed.

After an awkward pause, they laugh about it.

* * *

Phillipa nearly has a heart attack when she receives her next letter, the memory of injuring Zoe long behind her.

Dear Angel,

As usual, I've been thinking about you a lot, but something crossed my mind today. Chandler told me you took up the celibacy vows. He's furious at me for writing letters to you. I told him nothing had happened, but he doesn't believe me. Thankfully, he likes me enough to keep it secret. I'm lucky we have that understanding.

I don't have a problem either way, but I'm curious what inspired you to take those vows? What do you see becoming of your life in the future?

Take your time replying,

Bookshelf Destroyer

* * *

The blonde writes a draft of the letter, one she re-writes at least five times over an entire week until she is happy with her answer.

Bookshelf Destroyer,

I've been thinking about you too. I'm surprised – actually, very impressed - you kept us a secret from Chandler for so long. It's lucky he doesn't talk to me much or he would have found out sooner. Maybe if someone finds out about us and does something terrible it will be my fault. I only have so much self-control. It is biting that you're better at keeping your mouth shut about important things, right? You're stomping on my reputation! Ha ha

You must remember that when I joined the Circle I was very young. I was partly inspired by how romantic and noble it sounded. That is still the case. If I can keep my vows, to me it proves that I can achieve something many can't. It represents how strong I am.

There are different kinds of chastity vows. Some are only until marriage, and others are for life. Very few pick 'for life', usually the emotionless ones! I think you would have to be Tranquil to pick 'for life'. Not me. I just picked until marriage, so I guess… if you think those sorts of thoughts about me, you might have to be more careful. That way, not just any silly boy will take my virginity away!

Samson made a joke a while ago about how you think about doing those sorts of things with me. Is it true?

All my kindness,

Angel


	10. Chapter 10

Phillipa likes it when the sky is cloudy.

She recalls the gentle caress of the air and scent of pines in Fereldan, while hers and the Rutherfords parents blab on about matters no children have interest in. When slight in the endless paddock, Mia is so joyful, so playful.

Under the shade of foliage, the two girls pretend they are merchants. Sometimes they pick berries and fruit, and position them perfectly in a basket. These times are rare, for they tend to the animals in the farm and work until their muscles ache, singing songs to make it more interesting. Occasionally, Cullen comes to check on them.

Mia forces him to play, and often succeeds. When he chooses, Cullen prefers pretend sword fights with long sticks or horse riding. Not the girls.

Phillipa remembers the one time when they stuff the scratchiest type of grass down his back, and then proceed to laugh so hard that they lay in that same grass and get it tangled in their hair.

Cullen smiles, having gotten his revenge.

In Fereldan, overcast is normal. For those in Kirkwall, it means misery and tiresome sighs.

To Phillipa, it is a happy, though distant memory. When the Free Marches city is cloaked in that familiar blue radiance, it is like causing mischief with Mia again, but that was a long time ago. The blonde does not sing songs to pigs or horses or pretend she is free to do as she pleases.

Her music is preserved for the Chantry and the clatter of metal boots on the drab stone. Even if she does not live in Fereldan anymore, she holds onto the light-heartedness for safe keeping. The Templar lets her charges play like she used to play, but limits are made when they are due.

Phillipa likes it when the sky is hidden.

She paces side by side with a man she never would have guessed she'd find pleasant. They are in the Templar Hall, somewhere not just anybody could go, but those willing to sacrifice parts of themselves for a greater cause.

"I uncovered Maddox's shortcoming," Samson points out, raising a suspicious eyebrow at Phillipa, "He singed part of my armour," the man gestures to the metal near his knee that is black, "said I should be hung upside down until I lost sensation in my legs. I can't think of why."

"Probably because you were senseless," the blonde suggests, their pacing blocking out some of the conversation.

"Do you approve of his torture?" Samson wonders.

"No." she shakes her head, "I don't know who deserves such a cruel fate. It certainly isn't you."

She can't think of why Maddox would be frustrated.

Their conversations are short when the two are together. It is organized that way for a reason. While the words tumble from her mouth, the man passes Phillipa the letter and she folds it carefully underneath her chest plate. Here, a token of play, a memorabilia of her happiness. The Templar grins wide, as genuinely as she does around her charges and Zoe, but few else.

Truly, she is grateful for Samson, and not just for the letters. The man is a good friend to her. He listens to her woes and tries to comfort her, even if he has trouble with the second part. She feels closer to him than Cullen these days which, considering how much the two had spoken in the beginning, is a significant feat.

Her interactions in the Circle have changed, maybe even that meant she has. It is for the better. Samson describes her as more human. If there was something Phillipa could do to help her friend, she would gladly.

The man is often nervous around Zoe. Could an attempt to rectify this be how she gives her thanks?

"Samson, is it fine if I ask a personal question?"

The brunet doesn't give much indication if he is happy with this or not, but now that the letter is exchanged the two walk slower, calmer, voices blending with their brothers and sisters crossing to the Courtyard. His neatly shaven face appears almost statuesque in the air, like those days in the Honnleath paddock where nothing was as it seemed.

"What?" he asks, finally.

"Do you fancy Zoe… wholly and _truly_?"

Never mind that it should be obvious. Never mind Zoe isn't showing sympathy, and is unlikely to change that. Phillipa wants to know the full truth. She is surprised when, as though she herself is Zoe, Samson nearly trips over his own feet.

"You trying to say…" he begins, but Phillipa interrupts.

"Does your heart show lightness to her essence, or her shapeliness?"

Samson forces himself to keep marching, to keep appearing occupied. His eyes jump around, as though confused, to Phillipa, to the other Templars, to the sky, and finally, back to her.

"If I plead guilty, will you mouth off to her about it?" he tests.

"I swear," the blonde assures with strong eyes, "not a word will depart from these lips."

The two catch eyes for a moment. In it, Samson hesitates. She thinks on all the interactions she'd witnessed with Samson and Zoe. It is reminiscent of adolescence, not young adults. Like those youthful days, it is unapparent who the more oblivious one is. Is it the girl crossing her arms, unable to comprehend why a man prods her with a stick? Or is it Samson, so unable to communicate clearly in the first place?

The query receives no elaboration today. In its brevity, Samson unknowingly admits to an infatuation of some kind, although it is unclear how much of it is from Zoe's form or spirit. Samson's features, chiselled in the morning glow, roughen. His grey eyes match the hall, but glisten with an emotion that has no name.

Then, they move. He regards somewhere behind Phillipa, beyond her. In those seconds the air is biting, like a winter that has arrived far too early.

'Leaving.' Samson mutters, and to Phillipa's unrest he storms past to return inside.

Phillipa does not understand why until she turns to see the man go, and is faced with the Knight Commander Meredith.

She feels no temptation to depart, although she does not imagine her superior to be there. Her leader stands right between the magnificent bird statues, under the clouds like the eye of a storm, the only person stable and in control, her red head piece magnificent contrast to the gloom.

"I did not expect you to be idling, Phillipa," she says, her voice either intrigued or concerned, "Is Ser Samson hauling you from duty?"

"Only fleetingly, ma'am," Phillipa assures her, approaching nearer, "Ser Samson was merely asking for my advice about his charges. One of them is moderately thankless."

Like the greatest lies, there is an element of truth. One of Samson's charges causes him trouble, but he never asks for help, and the Templar feels no guilt expressing it.

She feels no fear in the guilt, but righteousness. How odd.

"If that is the actuality," the woman's eyes carefully observe Phillipa without actually seeing her, "then I hope you will direct him to me if you deem Ser Samson requires further assistance."

"I most certainly will, Knight Commander."

She doesn't understand why Meredith presumes Samson is inadequate, but it isn't Phillipa's job to inquire. Her superior is just being careful.

"I must return to my charges, Meredith," she informs suddenly, both wanting to avoid more questions and to get focused.

Like Samson, she leaves the Templar Hall, but at a regular pace, unafraid, crossing through the eye of a storm to the blizzard. Meredith doesn't move, so her voice is perfectly audible even when she replies moments later.

"Take care, Miss Evitt."

It is more difficult to conclude, but Phillipa still hopes the Knight Commander suspects nothing. She forgets about the letter hidden under her chest plate. She speaks to her charges about anything but Meredith, wishing she could take another look at that blissful, grey sky and be reminded of a dream.

* * *

Dear Angel,

Thank you for writing about your vows. I have heard stories of why Templars pick these vows and some don't, so I am charmed to hear a firsthand account!

I'm not sure if you ignored my question on purpose – but what do you see becoming of yourself in the future? Whether we run away, unintentionally destroy ourselves or keep us a secret forever – if I wasn't part of the story, where would life take you, if there was or wasn't the Circle? Are you hoping to settle down and start a family?

I actually don't want to admit this, but Samson was right. I have thought of doing the most inappropriate of all acts with you. He asked me very early on during the letter trafficking and I think I trust him as much as you. It slipped out.

Please – I will beg if I have to - don't get the idea that this is the only reason why I'm interested in you, because that is not the case. I'm not sure if you believe me, and if you don't – I understand if you don't want anything to do with me anymore. If you do believe me, I hope it doesn't scare you. I didn't intend to ever tell you unless you asked. Now you have. I am not intending to make you uncomfortable in any way. I'm probably making it worse.

It's all fairly trivial, isn't it? This hiding.

Phillipa, if you respond and I am dead… the cause was probably a heart attack from the terror of rejection. If that is the case, you may keep what little possessions I have and do what you like with my heart, even if you throw it into the harbour.

I think I might die,

Bookshelf Destroyer

In the calm of her room, in the comfort of the light night clothes, lit by candlelight, she didn't know how to think or feel about this information. Although she hears rumours some men in the Circle think she was pretty, she doesn't think they'd go as far as what Maddox was suggesting. The Templars went to the Rose but…. _this_? Regardless of what the reasoning is, a solution ought to be found. 

Yet as Phillipa sits at a desk, quill in hand, she does not know how to return Maddox's thoughts.

 _Explain the truth,_ she reprimands herself, _that it does not change anything, and write of other matters._

The feather continues to be poised in mid-air like a tame bird, unmoving, and as steady as her thoughts. Phillipa tucks the letter between her hip and underwear, not wanting to tempt Zoe to grab it, and breaths very slowly out, careful to remain silent.

She turns to Zoe, who is lying on her bed. She looks equally deep in thought by the way her eyebrows are furrowed. Whatever the brunet is pondering, she isn't getting very far.

"I've been thinking something, sister," Zoe mentions, peering at her nails.

"So was I," Phillipa remarks.

Zoe talks to the ceiling, as if pondering the significance of life itself, "Samson… he's got a charming face on him, doesn't he?"

_Predictable Zoe._

The blonde smiles, "Does that validate your dim-witted expression?"

Usually when Zoe likes a boys appearance, she merely smiles, appears carefree and confident. There was no _question_ of attractiveness, but simply that it was there. Not here.

"Better than appearing Tranquil," Zoe points out, examining Phillipa.

Phillipa bit her lip. Zoe tends to occasionally point out men she finds attractive, although the conversation fizzles out quickly when Phillipa says "He's not unattractive" enough times. The Templar isn't embarrassed like Cullen might, but she has nothing to add. If by an odd chance Phillipa notices someone's physical appearance, it doesn't allow her to feel much of anything.

Zoe grumbles and crosses her arms, "I want a sister's verdict."

"You know I'm no good at these questions," Phillipa sighs, "Why does it matter?"

Her roommate gave a small smile, "No reason."

"Then why ask?"

"Maddox must have intrigued you somehow." Zoe says confused, "You don't snog for a man's brain."

"Maybe _you_ don't," Phillipa raises her voice, "it was a kiss, not _snogging_."

She says the last disapprovingly. The blonde isn't one to feel intense passion, but strong threads of amity. A kiss, in of itself, pushes the boundary of comfort. It has always been this way, and she is proud of being able to focus on what truly matters because of it.

"What did the kiss feel like?" her roommate speculates, her voice a lot calmer.

Phillipa ponders, and a ripple of warmth spreads from her belly to her fingers and toes. She remembers the dark of the hidden room, the cold of the floor, the trembling of the nerves, and the unique agony of having that taken away when hers and the mage's lips met. The dreams of the two speaking together did no justice to that.

"Greater than any dream." She says finally.

"That good?"

Phillipa nods and turns away before her face can turn pink. The letter hiding at her hip gets sweaty at the memory. The kiss had snatched away her mind and heart at once, quickly and yet not viciously. Flawlessly.

Zoe looks slightly envious, "That sounds perfect."

"It was." Phillipa admits.

The silence is comfortable, as warm as the candlelight, not distorted by the shadows.

"If it was that amazing I would want more than one." Zoe points out.

"So?" Phillipa tests, "I can't."

"Your vow," Zoe stretches her toes, "isn't what I was talking about."

Phillipa is half inclined to ask what Zoe is referring to, but doesn't like where the conversation is going. Reluctantly, she tries to appease her roommate's own pondering.

"Samson has a harsh exterior but a kind heart," she muses, slowly, "and so, to me, that makes him a good looking man."

Zoe grins mischievously, "Phillipa, you are _so_ bizarre! What if he was ugly?"

The topic has come up before but somehow Zoe always finds the answers amusing.

"I don't like that word." Phillipa says flatly.

She blames it on her developing into a woman much later, and slower, than her peers, at sixteen. Still, Phillipa does not understand why appearance matters. Her father wisdom lingers in her mind, 'your soul is the most beautiful, and that is the most important gift the Maker can give,'

She curses the cruel lads in the Gallows who teased her in adolescence. Fine, her nose might be too long. Her breasts might be small and her face is scrawny. That doesn't mean she is ugly. Never mind her hair is long, neck elegant and she most certainly _is_ a girl.

 _Why are you not in the boys quarters,_ the boys snickers return, _are you sure you're not sleeping in the wrong place?_

Zoe came to her defense in those days, _stupid and ignorant gits_. _Take them down, come on._

So Phillipa did, grasping a power as she did so.

She does not blame Guylain, who had a lengthy chat to those boys, or even the First Enchanter. _Those_ men are kind, true men, like her father. Even if those times are gone – thank the Maker for maturity - the memory remains painful. Ugly is such a hurtful word.

"So what of Maddox?" Zoe adds.

Phillipa ponders on it. She contemplates the first time she saw Maddox in the hallway, walking with a book on his head. It is always difficult to tell how mages appear beneath their robes, but she recalls his face for the grin.

She ponders on it more. When he balances a bookshelf worth of heavy books on his skull, and she determines, it is look of determination and allure that intrigues her. "I like how his eyes twinkle, and how big his smile is."

Zoe smiles, "I think our tastes in men may differ."

"Praise the Maker." The blonde admits.

* * *

She ponders on the same question late into the night. Maddox _is_ attractive to her, but in _her_ way, there is little telling why.

She remains in conflict about how to reply to the letter. No readings of the Chant provide guidance. She doesn't want to ask Zoe. She refuses to ask Samson. They are likely to misinterpret or embellish.

This is a dangerous question, a very private question, so the answer is of paramount importance.

Phillipa waits until her roommate has become a peaceful dreamer before taking a midnight stroll. She only wanders the halls at such an hour when she has a graveyard shift. This isn't the case tonight. She thinks back on those grey skies and wishes she could be on that farm again, the place she had understood true freedom.

The other nights, Phillipa wanders with a destination in mind. Tonight, there is no such place she yearns for. It is a need. Phillipa desires to find the hidden messages in her heart. Perhaps sensible thoughts reside in the memories of stuffing itchy grass down an unsuspecting Cullen's back.

The young lady paces every hall, remembering the night she told Maddox no more letters, no more foolishness, no more giving into temptation. How many times has this happened dilemma occurred? The times she stays in control are shortening, like kindling of a fire. It continues to prick her, though not enough to retreat. She is not following her duty to the Maker. It is... unnerving, not knowing what shapes the shadows take.

Her footsteps make very little sound. The letter stays notched between her hip and underwear, somewhere invisible and forbidden to touch. How to answer Maddox's message is a mystery, yet she carries it with her, like an extra shawl over her shoulders. It keeps her warm. It does not hurt her.

When Templars on the night watch see her, Phillipa assures them she is quite fine. They don't question. No one ever questions her more than needed.

She is not fine, but nostalgic for something that is gone.

Phillipa walks to the Hall, where the two grand statues of eagles stare down on her, to the courtyard, where bars link one world to the next. It is barely visible by the glimmer of moonlight.

She is like Samson. He avoids answering questions, and now, Phillipa tries to decipher how to answer Maddox.

The Gallows Courtyard is far vaster once one crosses it in bare feet, more ethereal in the beam of the silver light. Her feet are colder, each step is darker, even threatening, but Phillipa remains composed. She is in control.

Maddox, she realizes, shares the same ambition for adventure that Mia did, but _he_ is different. He preserves a childlike exuberance which spread happiness to all, in the harsh confides of a prison. Mia hides her mischievousness now, just like Phillipa does.

The evening prior Phillipa left to Kirkwall, she and Mia raised a small boat out of sticks and let it float down a river. It had disappeared into the night, just like her playfulness and her friend. The Gallows had boats, but none like that one.

Perhaps when their little boats sunk into the ocean, so did their innocence. Society shapes them, but it did not shape Maddox. He is resolute.

She stops, right in front of bars of blackened steel. To her, the Gallows is not a prison. It is a horror transformed into something greater than its original purpose, a school, with nice food, friends, patient teachers and a safe place to sleep.

Writing letters is not the same as frolicking in mud or pretending to be bards. Her toes numb from the cold, but she wraps hands around the iron steel and imagines, for a moment, she is a mage. What would life be like? She likes learning and so would probably be just as well behaved. 

 _Probably not much different_ , Phillipa thinks.  _Maddox admires me as a Templar because I inspire others, for I am kind and hard working. I doubt I would inspire the same as a mage._ _I would have no real power._

But mages have power and magic. They have spirit and knowledge, as Templars do. They are not that different…

 _I wish I could be a mage,_ Phillipa tells herself, _just for a day, a night… a week. I want to live like you do, Maddox. I want to be free._

The young woman takes her hands off the bars and reaches through them as far as she could, like reaching for the mage she could not have. The night air cools them and she is reminded of how lonely she is. 

_I want to be free._

Indeed. Phillipa admires Maddox breaking the rules, but not because _she_ thinks it was a good idea. She is baffled that anyone could come up with the strength to do such a thing. She wants that strength, for it was something she has not mastered.

What is liberty to her… freedom of speech, of mind or from consequence?

_Freedom is breaking my rules, to find a hidden glory in the Maker's beautiful creation._

What consequences would arise from breaking Phillipa's own rules?

It depends on the rules.

Yet, her desire persists. She lets go of the bars and, shaking now, marches over the narrow passageway to the docks and sits down on the edge. There must be a small rule she is willing to break. All the boats lie in formation, declaring no one on the other side.

She stares into the blackness of the water and stretches out her knees. Phillipa always likes the idea of dipping her feet in, but…

_Only children put their feet in the water._

Phillipa peers over her shoulder.

For others, this is not freedom. It is for someone trapped by her own mind. Taking a deep breath, Phillipa dips her toes in the water. They freeze, but she pushes on, lowering her feet until the water reaches her ankles.

There is one rule. Fragmented in two.

She sighs and tries to stay calm. No one is here. No one can see her. She has done something she never could in the Gallows. It feels… exhilarating!

Her heart races. _This_ is her liberty. Courage. Bravery. Like getting grass stuck in her hair that tickles her neck, singing terribly yet filing the air with her voice.

_What would Mia do?_

The Templar is not sure. She doesn't want to get caught.

What would her father say? The image of the man's kind, but firm gaze enters her head, "Guard your modesty, for it is costly to lose it."

Phillipa knows what it means now. The removal of clothes is like lowering a shield. That is a bigger rule, a value that threads her soul together like stitches. Slicing it would unravel her, expose her. _Dare_ she?

Phillipa checks over her shoulder again, and no one is behind her.

_I have my shawl._

If she is truly that senseless… she could hide under her shawl for a time. No one would notice but her.

She holds her breath and smiles to herself as she slowly pulls her night shirt off from under the shawl and lets it lie in her lap. Freezing, she removes her ankles from the water. They are so cold there is no sensation. She wraps her shawl tighter for a moment. This makes her heart leap.

 _I am not being modest, father,_ Phillipa wishes she could say, _although I am still being shy._

She realizes this is all very silly and petty, but it feels wonderful. It would feel more so is she wasn't hesitant. Even the thought is alluring!

Heart racing, she pulls out the letter from her knickers, flattens it out in front of her and reads the lines over again, trying not to shiver.

If I wasn't part of the story, where would life take you?

She intends to spend her days in the Circle until she falls in love. Otherwise, she is perfectly content to be with her Templar family and help mages learn. She doesn't know when love will strike her. It is a whimsical, silly aspiration she ponders on sometimes.

It is different now she knows Maddox. Has love already found her? 

Phillipa, honestly, isn't sure how to respond.

Are you hoping to settle down and start a family?

Phillipa thinks the Circle is family enough, but she loves children too. She would, if circumstances allowed it, to be blessed with life's great adventure of parenthood. One day. There is no knowing when. Only the Maker knows.

I actually don't want to admit this, but Samson was right.

Maddox wants to bed her? Phillipa finds it hard to imagine. She doesn't understand what drew others to bed each other for pleasure. The picture is a sad blur, unable to be deciphered.

Her heart jumps. Did Maddox want a family?

If you do believe me, I hope it doesn't scare you.

Phillipa realizes she isn't afraid, she merely does not understand. She trusts Maddox to be respectful, just as before.

She remembers the first time Zoe kissed a boy. She remembers her roommate's excitement. Phillipa feels the confusion about it as if it is now. She remembers returning from the overnight shift to find the couple asleep in Zoe's bed.

The memory is short. The boy breaks it off with Zoe in order to stay focused on his duties, or so he said, and her roommate had been very angry.

Her cries of indignation are vivid. She says she gave her body to him. Phillipa listens to comfort her dear friend, though isn't sure what to say. Zoe's anger is rarely seen, though it is like fire when she says, "I can do far more with my body than he can!"

Phillipa hesitates. She has never pleased herself in such a way, she doesn't understand the appeal. It couldn't feel _that_ good, could it?

She tenses. Those thoughts like Zoe and Samson are… immature. Phillipa wasn't that brave, not today, nor inspired. However, she takes a breath and opens her shawl, her breasts free to look out at the ocean and the stars just as she, oblivious to anyone. The shawl, her shield, is still raised, yet goosebumps flourishes over her bare chest and stomach.

She doesn't completely feel freedom yet, though her heart races. It is close.

"The Maker is with us," she murmurs in a sing song voice, "To our brothers and sisters awaiting their freedom within those walls, at last, the Light shall shine upon all of creation."

Turning back to the Gallows to check no one is around; Phillipa holds her breath, as though the Knight Commander might hear her from miles away.

 _I can do this_ , she reminds herself, _I will set free what I may._

Her heart nearly bursts from her chest as the blonde lets her shawl fall to the ground, peering out to the night sky with the letter in her hands. Her heart threatens to break her ribs with its intensity. What if someone _did_ see?

In youthfulness Mia and Phillipa are carefree. There they are, swimming in the river, nearly all clothes forgotten, pretending to be hunters or fish.

This is different. The thrill and elation matches' only one experience – a kiss in the dark, by a mage she could not resist. That night, Phillipa feels the closest to passion she knows, this liberty from clothes, a disregard for her morals. The longer she let her bare chest be flooded by moonlight, the lighter she felt, and the more she sensed power.

Phillipa decides she likes the night sky as much as a grey one. This could not be yearning, for she feels such feelings differently. She stops judging herself in that moment, too busy enthralled by the cool air over her back, chest, legs and stomach, the ghostly glow of her skin.

The Templar wants to be free… but how so and to what extent, is still unclear.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my third draft of this chapter. It morphed a lot from the original. Hope anyone reading enjoy it.

Phillipa and Samson's charges are conversing among each other, as lights of every possible color cross to each corner. They are practicing spells in a spare room, nothing unusual. There are bars on the one tiny window that barely fills it with light. It could have been any other day, but it isn't.

It should be nothing to worry about, but the blonde feels dirt and sweat smudge the envelope she hides in the taut band where her robes meet armour.

 _Maker, grant me serenity,_ she prays.

Sending a letter isn't out of the ordinary these days, but the contents of this message is. Maddox's letter had asked provocative questions. The Templar responded with invitations for explanation - how did he see her, want to see her, what did he think about her exactly?

However she insists it isn't reckless. She made boundaries. She denied any interest in pursuing matters further. They'd be friends and naught else.

Her breath hitches in her throat as the surrounding grey of the prison blurs in front of her eyes. There is something… fraudulent about her letter, though Phillipa does not know what it is.

Samson notices the near-hidden gasp. Leaning against slabs of grey stone, arms crossed, his neck tilts towards her, and one of his grey eyes rests on her pale face. His jaw remains neutral, but he seems to search her. Finally, he flicks one of her temples with a thick fingernail, not bothering to smile.

"Thought the demons got you, Phillipa," he says.

Phillipa clutches the corner of her envelope tighter, but finds she cannot move it. "It is not unlikely," she confides, "Sometimes I think I am my own demon."

"Your personal demon is far more devout than the rest of ours, then," Samson mocks.

"Yes." Phillipa tries to focus on the shield one of her charges is conjuring. "But I must confront it, either way."

Before the conversation can continue, the blonde drifts to a bookshelf to lean against. Despite trying to avoid Samson's eye, he reaches her again after a lengthy delay.

"You're a strong one," he murmurs, as though trading a secret, "Keep your chin up, sister- 'else we can find somewhere to heart-to-heart."

"The only discussion I will be having," Phillipa concludes, forcing her gaze up, "is between the Maker and myself."

Her friend gives a tired sigh and imitates the hand movements of his charges, as if pretending to conjure a spell, "Good idea. The Maker knows what he's talking about. Probably has better advice."

The entire morning Phillipa had been convinced the letter would be out of her hands by the afternoon, but it stayed in her robes, a secret to her. It would wait.

She tries to smile at Maddox when she sees him, to let him know she wants to answer. By the smile, she hopes he understands.

* * *

When the working hours pass, Phillipa decides to look upon her favourite book for inspiration, The Chant. She knows passages by heart, yet decides peering on the paper without relying on memory may provide more opportunity to think. Did The Chant say anything about temptation and desire, information that was different to what the Chantry had taught her?

Back in her room, she flicks through the pages and her finger stops at one line.

_"Heart that is broken, beats still unceasing, An ocean of sorrow does nobody drown. You have forgotten spear-maid of Alamarr. Within My creation, none are alone."_

She pauses, thinking fondly on Maddox, yet held great sadness for her inner turmoil.

And yet the Maker said no one was to drown, that nobody was supposed to be alone. Did that mean Phillipa was permitted to be with Maddox, or was it a recommendation to strengthen the bonds of friends and family?

Andraste had forgotten. Maybe the Holy prophet wasn't the only one who had.

Phillipa puts her hands together to pray, but she knew the Chantry was the proper place for such things. If she is going to speak to the Maker, she has to do it suitably.

* * *

Announcing her departure doesn't cause any suspicion, because on occasion Phillipa went to visit her father at Chantry services. 

The evening is cold, regardless of it being a warm season. Phillipa wraps her cloak closer and wishes it was pleasant. She wears the nicest of her clothes, wanting to show the Maker she respected Him. She puts on a plain dress, one she used to wear to the markets with her father. 

Now she would be a simple Marcher, not a Templar, praying alone for herself, not in the company of her family. She'd never prayed alone in the chapel before.

Still, she feels empty as she enters the edifice, wishing the world was a kinder place. The vast ceiling and statues are no comfort, an usual feat. It usually inspires and energizes her, a loving embrace of the Maker's greatness and the collective spirit, to allow one to stand tall. It is lonesome to be here without her parent and outside the context of Chantry training. Zoe had been her roommate from a young age. They had completed their morning and afternoon training and prayers here after the vigil. She had received her philtre of lyrium here, graciously donated by the senior Templars.

She found a free place to sit in the main hall and lowers onto her knees. There are others around as usual, but they don't bother her.

"Dear Maker," she says under her breath, "I'm sorry if I have come asking for something wrong or unjust. I assume you must have seen what I am dealing with right now." She feels her heart pound, hoping no one would hear. "There is a very kind man I have met, a funny man. But as my duty to you, I am not permitted to see him, even though I want to. I wonder what I am to do? I pray that you will give me your kindness, dear Maker, for I am not so kind toward myself. It is a war. I am beaten and battered and I want peace with it. Please, I read that you told Andraste we are not supposed to be alone. What did you mean?"

There is no immediate answer. Phillipa closes her eyes, focuses on her breathing and listens. She hears all the speaking of others around her, parents and children. The Maker communicates in strange ways, at times. If only she listened patiently enough, there would be an answer. There must be. 

Still, she waits, meditates, and all she could think was how much she didn't want the Maker to say, 'stay away from Maddox'.

Perhaps that is important. She dreads abandoning Maddox so much, it is her worst fear.

Then Phillipa thinks of something else.

It doesn't make sense that the Maker would not understand. The Chantry and the Templar Order may be founded on years of tradition, but perhaps their ways had been distorted through the passage of time, just like Andraste forgot. The Nevarran Accord was created at a time of great hardship, after all.

There is no doubt. Her feeling to be with Maddox is powerful, and it is not with the intention to harm. He isn't _her_ charge, the risk of causing him emotional harm is low… it would only be a concern if they got caught.

The Templar rises to her feet and seeks out the Grand Cleric for a second opinion. Like usual, she is up a staircase, found helping a stranger. Phillipa waits. Elthina appears harsh when the person departs, but this did not halt her.

"You are Ser Phillipa Evitt, am I correct?"

"That is so, Revered Mother," Phillipa says with a small, Templar like bow, "I am honoured you recognize me."

"You appear distressed," she says slowly, "Is there anything I can assist you with?"

"If you have a moment," Phillipa says, her voice calm and soft, "I read something in the Chant earlier I found rather strange. When the Maker came before Andraste, He said that 'Within my Creation, none are alone'. Of course, I have learned the different perspectives on this passage, but how do you think this applies to minority groups in Kirkwall?"

The Grand Cleric brushes her hands together. "You live up to what I have heard about you, dear girl, an inquisitive mind with virtue unmatched," she remarks, "Are you assuming minority groups are alone? They are certainly not. Otherwise they would not be called a 'group'."

"What if an elf and a dwarf were to elope, for example?" Philipa theorizes, trying to make up something that had some similarity to her dilemma, "Does that mean that they may also find comfort in each other? Or do they only seek comfort in the Maker, and follow society's rules?"

The Grand Cleric indicates her thoughts by humming, appearing wise and powerful, even when doing something so simple. "I believe, as with all the Chant's passages, it depends on what perspective to take. Where is the balance between the Maker and common humanity? Where does the Maker give mercy and where does He punish?"

"Very good questions, Revered Mother," Philipa says, "What do you think? An elf and a dwarf were to elope – do you think it is unworthy of mercy?"

"It is not a question of mercy," Elthina said, "I do not personally believe the Maker scorns such a love. Others may disagree with me. It is largely a mystery of whether this couple are willing to deal with the consequences, such as the taunting and jeering."

Phillipa knew in her case, she believed Maddox and she should be together, but did she want to confront Meredith if the two got caught? No, but she'd be diplomatic. She'd be careful. There must be a way others got away with it.  If Maddox was willing to take the risk of being caught, so was she. They could work together. They'd gotten away with it so far. They were clever. 

She feels stronger now, that she wants peace with her feelings more than anything else, and for that she would risk as much as her duty.

"A grave concern, Elthina," Philipa acknowledges, "Very well. I was curious. None of my friends knew how to answer, but thank you."

Without much of another word, she departs the Chantry, and when the Kirkwall air whips her face, she is left with another set of questions.

_Presume Maddox and I continue to be together, to see each other in person, instead of write letters. What do I want?_

She ponders, both immensely curious and forever intimidated by joining bodies. It is an act easy to rationalize it if intending to bear child, but there is no way Maddox and she could, not in the Circle – ridiculous. More than that, she intends to keep her chastity vow – but this is confusing too.

 _What if I never meet another man who wishes to be with me?_  she wondered, _he was the first. If I die without ever breaking my vow, if I don't ever have a family or children of my own, will that upset me?_

She shudders. That is a terrible question, one that she also hates the answer of. There must be someone she could talk to about these matters, not Zoe, not Cullen, not Maddox – and certainly not Samson.

She shades rain droplets from splashing against her nose, as the sky clouds. Now in Hightown, she spots the Red Lantern district in the distance. There is a brothel that relished in its knowledge of the human body. Phillipa had never been… Perhaps it is worth a look.

* * *

The inside is a lot fancier than she would expects. The Rose has a high ceiling, almost like the Chantry, many rooms, grey walls and lots of red curtains. There is also nice music playing in the corner, and a bar to purchase drinks.

Timid, Phillipa wanders over to the bar and sits down, not sure what else to do.

The bar tender is twice her age, but smiles at her. "Good evening, young lady," he welcomes, leaning forward, "Would you like anything?"

"Water, if you have it," Phillipa responds.

The bar tender laughs. " _Do we have water?_ That's a new one."

He cleans a glass absently, fills it from the tap and passes it to her.

Phillipa nods, feeling restless and sick for being here. "Thank you." She took a small sip. "If you can be so kind, I'd like an explanation on how it works here?"

"Sure." The bartender adjusts the collar of his shirt, "See Madame Lusine over there? Where the line is? That's right. She takes customer's coin, and they go into a room with somebody. Simple – and then there's just the bar here for men and women like yourself who don't know what they want."

"I understand," Phillipa acknowledges, feeling stupid, "How much does it cost?"

"That depends entirely on what you want," the man hints, "There are three services, cheap, standard and premium. They differ in… intensity, let's say."

The blonde peers over again at Madame Lusine for a moment, "What do you recommend for someone like me?"

The man seems charmed by the Templar. "I don't know you _that_ well, dear lady. How much do you want to happen?"

"Not much," Phillipa went pink as she pours out the answer, "I want to learn. I am not too clever about it. Do you think I'll be allowed to talk to somebody?"

"Yeah, Lusine can organize that." The bar tender takes someone else's glass and refills it, "You want cheap or standard, but just to be safe, I'd go standard – so you get a worker who knows what they're talkin' about."

"Standard," Phillipa repeats, making up her mind. She finishes her water and got up from the seat, "Thank you very much, kind sir."

"All the best."

Pain zooms about like bees in her stomach as she approaches the line, and tries not to look at anybody as she waits. She focuses instead on the lovely curtains and red rug.

"Hello, mistress," Madame Lusine muses when she reaches the front, "What would you like?"

Philipa reaches for some coin in her purse, "May I have the standard service, please?"

"Of course." Lusine peers down at Phillipa, "That's one gold."

* * *

"Andraste's tits!" Zoe exclaims, raising her head from the floor. She is almost doing the front splits, stretching her hips after what looked like a training session, "if you had taken any longer I would have gone looking for you."

"That isn't necessary, sister," Phillipa admits, taking off her cloak and placing it in the wardrobe, "How was dinner?"

"How was the Chantry?" Zoe interrupts, "Did you find your dad there and catch up?"

The blonde unlaces her boots, deciding to avoid mentioning that she'd visited the Rose with a pseudonym and spoken to the prostitute about marriage, whether it is worth waiting for, that they'd talked about romance novels and all ways of the erotic. 

"Yes, I saw my father," Phillipa continues with her lie from earlier, "he is very well. I visited his house and we ate stew."

Despite appreciating honesty above all else, this is a lie she revered.

"I will send my letter in a moment," she advises, taking out the envelope from a locked chest and dabbing her quill in the ink pot. Her socks smell of sweat, but she has no intention of showering until it is done.

The only words she adds are:

I confronted my demons today, Maddox. This demon comes to me as love, but I do not believe it is a sin. Not love. Lust? If that demon approaches me, I will stand my ground and make up my own mind. I don't want to hide from you anymore. It is not worth the fight, even if it ends with wounds that disable us. I'd rather experience freedom than the remorse of staying still. Even if it is just to hear your voice and look into your eyes, or kiss you in secret rooms. Whatever comes of us, I will decide along the way, but I shall let my heart guide me from here on. What does my spirit yearn for? It wants to be with you, but do not come to me recklessly. We must plan judiciously and visit irregularly if we are to keep our tryst a secret.

* * *

The Templar is not afraid as she approaches Samson's room past midnight in socks and her rained on Kirkwall clothing. It is a relief that Samson answers the door, looking heavy lidded and exhausted, shrouded in the dark. Cullen must be having nightmares again.

"You…" he spots the envelope in her hand, "need a wash."

"In a moment," Phillipa agrees, "Thank you. I truly…"

She doesn't know what to say, but she understands what her heart wants. Mind clear, assured and strong, when Samson's fingers grip the letter, Phillipa reaches forth and wraps her arms around him. The man is startled and doesn't say anything, but she enjoys his unique scent, how it differs from Maddox, a mix of the ocean and grit. She feels comfort from his strong arms, how he is a kind person who also thought love was worth fighting for. He was putting himself at risk too, for them.

If she lost the war on love, Samson would be witness that Maddox and her fought for it.

"Sister," he groans, voice low, "I need a clean too."

"My mistake," the blonde lets go of him, noticing how there are mud stains on Samson's clothes, "I presume I should have done this instead."

She grasps Samson's hand which is holding the letter and kisses it.

His fingers flex slightly out of surprise, "Did wine go to your head, Ser Phillipa?"

"No." Phillipa promises, meeting his bewildered inquiry, "I only confronted my demon. You… you should too!" she adds, "Keep your chin up. Don't let Zoe get away, Samson."

"You _are_ on the piss." Samson concludes, avoiding her eye. If there was a hint of a smile, it was on the side of his mouth not visible to her.

Whatever the words or actions are, despite her bold action, Phillipa has no regrets.

The Chantry made a mistake. She wants to believe it and refuses to accept the opposite. A Maker that punishes love is not one worth following.


	12. Chapter 12

Angel,

I am thrilled to announce I did not die. Does that mean it's time to celebrate?

You would be a wonderful mother. You have patience and a warm heart. I don't think you are too young to think about having children. I know some mages younger than me who want to be parents. It is a personal decision. Whether it's a good or bad idea… depends on the person!

Honestly, I want the way the Circle operates to change. What do you think? Is that too ambitious of a goal?

A _revelation_! It wasn't theatrical enough to be a confession… a lustful revelation then?

Thank you for believing me and not wanting to set my robes on fire.

When did I start thinking of you in that way? I am not too sure when it started – probably the dreams. Don't worry, my thoughts of you are rather tame compared to some other girls I have enjoyed the company of.

I understand that you want to keep your vows and wait for the lucky man. You're right that the two of us turning into that is impossible as things are, and I know how important being a Templar is to you. If it was up to me I want you to be my girl and tell everyone that you are the woman I dream about at night – but what I want hardly makes a difference.

You are a special friend that I write letters to who I wish could be more.

I didn't mean to take an eternity to reply, but I was organizing a location to meet. You're right. We should "plan". So I thought I'd prove to you I can, it even feels like ingesting something sour. I spoke to one of the chefs about using the cellar to meet a "friend". It took weeks to work up to asking, but she agreed to lend me the key once. What do you think? Let me know – if you approve, meet me in front of the kitchens at 2:30am the 22nd morning of Justinian.

I hate hiding too.

Bookshelf Destroyer

Phillipa rolls over in her bed and hides the letter in her underwear. The hardest part is waiting until the right time to leave her room. She'd told Zoe they were only writing letters. It wasn't incorrect, but they were far shorter, made of jokes, small observations, attempts at drawing and streams of consciousness, more to halt others suspicions. They kept overly conversational topics to themselves, for when they were going to meet. The kitchen cellar is hardly the Templar's idea of a comfortable hiding place, but Maddox plans had not turned out to be terrible so far, and he put in a lot of effort to organize it.

She tip toes out bare footed with a cloak around her shoulders. To Zoe, even if she had been awake, there is no indication that anybody departed at all.

The blonde paces to the kitchens without a lantern, finding her way from memory and the very few lights still lit. There are few Templars patrolling, though she avoids them by taking alternative routes and hiding in rooms until they pass.

The dining hall is a homely and comforting location, though she stands in front of the door to the kitchens, bewildered. This is a place no one else entered. It is for staff only, though Maddox was given permission to use it.

Phillipa gently creaks open the door and steps cautiously inside. It is empty. There are brick and stone top benches that have remains of flour that couldn't be cleaned, with cooking utensils on hooks on the walls. Bowls, mugs, measuring cups and more are stacked neatly in a cupboard.

 _How bizarre,_ she muses, feeling like she works in the kitchens. As she steps past a fireplace with enormous clay trays the work space opens into a wider vastness with a number of doors, where she suspects leads to storage and a giant larder.

Before she wonders if she is in the wrong place, she feels a poke in the middle of her back.

Phillipa twirls around like a dancing partner and sees who she hoped for. Maddox is laid back and polite, obscured by shadow, like the time he sneaked to her quarters. She rarely sees him up close without darkness, an unfortunate necessity, but it couldn't be for long. She smiles as Maddox waves politely. It is so quiet, they only communicate in gestures. Wordlessly, the mage creates a small orb of light in his palm leads her further away from the cooking space and toward storage. The benches were on this end are nearly spotless, blemished with burns and hot oil marks that would stay forever. There are two doors, one for each corner.

The mage rummages a key from his robes and tries to fit it in both of them. It fits the one on the left. Flashing a knowing smile in Phillipa's direction, Maddox enters first, with her following.

There is a sense of wonder and denial within her. This experience feels surreal already. 

The door locks and Maddox flicks one of his fingers as though trying to remove a scrap of dirt. Like a firefly, the small light in his palm floats up until it reaches the ceiling. Then the orb fizzles and the rays spread to every corner, casting an eerie glow, vaguely illuminating the couple.

Phillipa is grateful she can now see her lover. Maddox is in a cloak like she is, tied together with string, except his has a hood. It makes it difficult to see his night clothes.

The cellar is drab and colorless, like every part of the Gallows, though polished wooden bars rise to the ceiling against every wall, criss crossing over each other, housing barrels and bottles of alcohol, though Phillipa is never good at recognizing which drinks corresponds to what.

"Good early morning, Knight Templar," Maddox says, placing the key in his pocket, "You're in one piece."

"Maker, I hope so," Phillipa says with a grin. The experience, however simple, feels surreal. "It is so strange to see you again. How have you been keeping occupied?"

"Reading, practicing magic, annoying others," Maddox mentions a list, strolling over to one of the barrels of alcohol and reading the block writing engraved on it, "I want to ask something."

"Yes?" Phillipa enquires.

The mage goes pink, but tries to keep looking at her, "What do you think about going on a date?"

"A date?" the Templar feels a shiver go down her spine, "are you suggesting… a romantic one?"

Maddox tries not to laugh too loud, "Are there other kinds I should know about?"

"It's marvellous as an _idea_ ," Phillipa admits pointedly, pacing over to look at the barrel, "though it is the same as any other idea. It lives in the mind and cannot prosper in the flesh."

"I'm delighted you agree," Maddox says, and his bright eyes meet hers, his charm shining off him as though it is an ever present shield of magic, "which is why I'd like to suggest…" He falls silent briefly with doubt, "we consider visiting a realm where thoughts appear as real as this one."

Phillipa understands immediately, though by habit and instinct, her Templar defensiveness appears with it, "The Fade?"

"Yes." Maddox looks at the orb of light above their heads, "though I know you're going to say I'm blasphemous or worth killing now, I am only suggesting…."

This is not untrue. The blonde is immediately flooded with justifications of why this is not a good idea.

"What about demons?" Phillipa challenged, "You're not of age for your Harrowing. There's a _reason_ why it hasn't been scheduled yet."

"This could be good practice," Maddox admits, "I've already sent myself into the Fade two, no, three times."

"You are not allowed to study from that school of magic," Phillipa criticizes, though despite the words her tone is not angry, "Surely you can imagine the chaos that would occur if charges were permitted to learn how to enter the Fade at will? It would be a disaster. There'd be little ability to defend them if something went wrong."

"I can imagine it, but that hasn't stopped me," Maddox replies back, and his voice is strong and resolute, "You are important to me and I am willing to take that risk. I have performed the spell successfully and I've studied it for weeks. There have been a few injuries but nothing life threatening. And I won't be going in alone this time. I'll have a Templar with me. That is different to a Harrowing."

Phillipa shies down and wants to reach out to Maddox, though instead she searches his expression for ill intention and finds nothing. "It is not advisable for me to enter the Fade either. You have not practiced with two persons before."

"I can do it. I studied how," Maddox advises her, "It is the energy levels that make the difference. I don't so much care for studying but I'm determined. I have thought in my head how to do this and practiced over and over in the Fade. I am most of the way there. Though it is only an idea – we can stay in this cellar."

Phillipa hesitates. This isn't just _any_ mage offering to enter the Fade, it is Maddox, and he wants to spend time with her. She ponders on what the consequences of this choice. If they stay in this cellar, they can speak like normal persons. If they depart to the Fade, there is risk of death, disfigurement or possession, though there is also opportunity for learning, self-discovery and bringing her desires to fruition. A date sounded _lovely_.

"I remain wary," Phillipa admits, sounding more like the stricter Templars, "however I like the sound of your idea, on the assumption it will work. What do you believe is the risk your spell will falter, judging from your previous ventures?"

The mage ponders on it, "There's much more chance of it working than failing."

Phillipa searches her brain for what she has learned about the Fade, "Once we are there, what if demons appear?"

"If anything happens we can leave," Maddox says hurriedly, "Between the two of us we can stay safe… I suppose I trust you more than I trust myself. I know you'll protect me."

The blonde realizes her heart is pounding. The thought that Maddox trusts her to protect him is somewhat flattering, though she does not know why. Part of her wants to be like Maddox and take the risk. He did have a point that it is better the two of them enter the Fade than one, and there was less opportunity for demons to harm them with a Templar around. She feels sympathetic to his cause. "Yes, it is probably better I come with you so I can fight off any demon you struggle to resist."

Maddox laughs, "The demons look like you sometimes," he pauses, "so if you're actually there, I don't think they'll have much to taunt me with."

"Demons are clever creatures," Phillipa says, "I wouldn't be so confident about that."

"I believe in your ability to end me if I get possessed, angel," Maddox mentions.

The Templar feels confronted. She doesn't like considering killing Maddox, but she'd done it for her charges before. If Maddox wasn't strong enough, then he would go to the Maker's side…

She does not believe the Maker would allow such a terrible occurrence without good reason. After all, she is going to be there.

"Send me into the Fade first," Phillipa advises him, "The two of us at once has a much larger prospect of failure."

"See," Maddox beams at her, "I didn't even consider that, but you're right, smart cookie."

Phillipa smiles. This plan for entering the Fade is becoming stronger; the baseline is more able to defend itself from a storm. As she would prepare for a Harrowing, she reaches behind her to grab a sword, but there is nothing there, only the surface of her cloak.

No matter. The Templar powers from the lyrium in her veins will suffice.

"I'll protect you, Maddox," she announces, "I promise. No demon will possess you, and I won't let any demon trick me."

Maddox looks at her hopefully, "I promise that if this goes horrible wrong we won't visit the Fade again."

Phillipa exhales. This went against all of her Templar training, but she was already breaking a number of rules. The thought of being away from the Circle and its rules was too great. She wants freedom, to simply exist in the realm where anything was possible and nothing was off limits.

"Nothing would me happier than to have a romantic outing with you," she concludes, as her fears ebb away.

Maddox appears distressed, though he asks her to sit down. They both do so against the barrel do not hit their heads on the ground once made asleep. Phillipa closes her eyes, not wanting to watch. The mage mutters an enchantment under his breath and her skin feels like it is melting away.

* * *

The Templar is surrounded by the colours of autumn, standing on an ivory dirt path. The beginning of a sunset is bursting over the horizon, casting pinks and orange over the small near identical houses. The chalk white exterior, triangular roofs and uniform frames of wood were not Kirkwall in design. In fact, it is not part of the Free Marches at all. This is Honnleath. There is no smell of the ocean or slime, but trees, gravel and dirt instead. The village people were departing from work, walking slowly yet aimlessly around her.

"Phillipa?"

That tentative voice belongs to Maddox. Startled, Phillipa twists to see where the voice is coming from and brings a hand to her chest to stop herself from hyperventilating. It is him, though not the mage she knew. This person is indistinguishable from the villagers. He wore leather boots, black trousers, a white tunic and had charcoal smudged up his arms, the look of a simple worker, one who did not study magic. Though this was not Fereldan, but the Fade, and she needs to check the identification of those she meets.

"What is your alias in our letters?" she requests.

Maddox grins, choosing the right movement to squeeze past villagers, "Bookshelf Destroyer - and what about you?"

He is so close, and he appears more handsome than Phillipa had ever seen him. Those mage robes never did suit him. This did. This is who Maddox would have been if the Circle had not taken him. Slowly, she places a hand gently to his arm. It felt indistinguishable from reality, though she notices that up close there is a fogginess to his outline, as though wearing foggy glasses.

"Angel," she says.

"The very opposite of a demon," Maddox remarks brightly, "What a coincidence."

Phillipa laughs. The mage admires her before asking, "Do you know where we are?"

"My home town," she answers, "This… My family's favourite tavern is right over there."

She points to a dwelling three houses away, it was shaped larger and had more persons entering and exiting.

"What do you think?" Maddox wonders, glancing around, "What's a good place for a date around here?"

Phillipa feels incredibly awkward but only for butterflies in her stomach, "There isn't much, but its home. I don't think you're ready to meet my mother yet!"

"Was I asking?" Maddox suddenly strides forward, as though forcing himself to forget the question, "we were going to the tavern."

Phillipa catches up to him and pulls on the tunic. "Do you own any clothes like this?"

"I _was_ brought to the Circle at four," Maddox explains, "so no. My Dad always wore something like it though."

"It…" the Templar is lost for words, "It is lovely."

The mage picks a stray leaf off Phillipa's head, "I'll endeavour to ask someone to buy me something like this. Tell me…" they speak louder to be heard over the villagers, "How come I never see you in that dress?"

Startled, the woman looks down. Covering her body is a white and gold dress, the material carefully woven and expensive. She realizes that she does not quite feel cold. "I don't have anything like this. While looking for apostate years ago I saw it in Hightown. I think the merchant was passing by, because I never saw the man again, but I always regretted not buying the dress. I didn't even get to try it on."

"Out of all the tragedies in the world, I have to say, that's the worst," Maddox admits, though he is playful, "to think you want me to wear something so ordinary, but what you want to wear is in another country."

The blonde touches her hair and realizes there are flowers woven within it.

"It doesn't matter," Phillipa shrugs it off as she reaches the tavern. Entering, they find a table away from the bulk of the crowd. Maddox, despite being in the Fade, keeps looking around as though someone is going to take him away, though there is a big grin on his face. Is this the first time he is in a tavern? The Templar is charmed by his excitement.

"Has anybody ever said you have a smile that could make even the most depressed person believe there is hope for them?"

Maddox's fingers wrap around the frame of the metal chair, "Just now, yes."

Phillipa giggles as she sits down at the small table, "You're lying."

"I once had a person say my grin could inspire demons to conspire with each other," Maddox remarks, "unless you consider that the same?"

The woman shakes her head. The interior is as busy and lively as Phillipa remembers it, even if the inside is dark and gloomy. She nearly squeals from excitement to see that the menu is the same.

"They still serve the Halla and tomato stew!"

"I know what we'll be eating then," Maddox departs from his seat before Phillipa could object, but then she remembers that they had no need for coin here. It was the Fade. She bobs her head to the music, one song she knew the words to. The patrons and bar tender are behaving completely ordinary. This couldn't be the Fade. It was too lovely.

Maddox returns with two bowls of stew and a waitress that has apple crumble and wine.

"Your man is spoiling you!" she says with a knowing wink.

"I _know_!" Phillipa agrees, unable to stop the grin on her face. She doesn't even care if this is a demon in disguise.

The mage chuckles, but does not explain what is making him so happy, possibly because it is obvious.

"Have you thought a lot of what your ideal first date?" Maddox wonders, "Your brain is making me take all the credit for what I haven't done."

"Not romantic outings," Phillipa still feels uncomfortable using the word 'date', "my mind tends to not focus on them and skip to married life outside of the Circle."

Maddox gulps at the wine. His expression is something between intrigue and confusion, "What is it that appeals to you so much about it?"

"Children," Phillipa says immediately, "though I don't want children growing up without their parents together. I think that's important. If signing a paper is what it takes to keep them together for their kin, to keep striving for their marriage to work, should it falter, so be it. I do love the thought of nurturing and dedicating my time for something to grow."

"There are flowers, trees, pets, charges…" the man points out, "Why little people?"

"Isn't childhood a beautiful experience?" she says, "It was for me. I have many wonderful memories. I want to provide someone with as many of those times as I can."

Maddox appears teary eyed, "I have no doubt that you can one day," he went quiet and observes the walls, "I don't remember much of my parents. Maybe that's why I don't…" he hesitates, "I don't think many mages think about having a future like this. Though, maybe if I'd grown up out here…"

Phillipa eats more of the stew and feels slightly homesick. She used to eat this with her parents. Now she was with a boy! She wishes she could write to her father about this or tell Zoe or Samson. Though she would certainly get in trouble… Why did it have to be a secret?

"Where would you rather spend time with me?" Phillip asks, "If this bothers you, I do not mind going somewhere else."

Maddox laughs, "Where can I take you? To my parents smithing shed?" he shakes his head, "No. This is fine."

"Have you ever been on a romantic outing?"

"Well, if bedding a woman in her quarters counts?" Maddox points out.

Phillipa nearly chokes on her food, "You _did_ that?"

"It was after her Harrowing," the mage shrugs, "Granted, she said it didn't mean anything."

"She was older than you?"

"Younger. We knew each other reasonably well, though." Maddox ate more of his food.

"What was her name?" Phillipa questions.

"Oh." The mage went pink, "Sileas."

The girl dropped her spoon. Sileas was one of her previous charges!

Maddox drinks more of the wine and appears equally clueless on what to say, "Did your family come here a lot?"

"Once a week," Phillipa recalls, happy to change the subject, "My father is an academic so he used to take me to libraries a lot to do his research…. Mother…"

"A baker?" Maddox recalls a mention from previous letters.

"Yes," Phillipa says, "she made sweets for the tavern here, so she knew the owner like a sister."

"I can _almost_ picture it." Maddox smiles ruefully.

The woman wonders whether she should recount memories, though instead she remembers one topic she had been deliberately hiding from the mage.

"I've been reading romance novels," Phillipa says, somewhat timidly, like confessing to murder, "I got some recommendations from somebody."

She leaves out the detail that she'd spoken to a Blooming Rose worker about it.

"How unexpected of you, Angel," Maddox remarks, "What was the inspiration?"

Phillipa blushes and covers her face, "You," she admits through her fingers.

There is a pause. Perhaps Maddox didn't hear, or was debating on how to answer.

"Are you enjoying them?" Maddox says lightly, although Phillipa still has her face in her hands.

She nods.

"Should I read them?"

The Templar giggles and shakes her head.

"No need to get so flustered," Maddox says, "The details can stay in book form. I don't want you to feel intimidated around me and ruin things."

Phillipa lifts her head and says something which comes out in an incomprehensible jumble.

The mage pulls apple crumble toward him, "What was that?"

She tries to suppress giggling so much that the words are almost another language, I'm…" she tries to take a gulp of soup but spills it, "not daunted."

"You're giggly?"

The girl nods and while settling they finish their food… and felt impossibly, insanely full afterwards. Phillipa still can't believe this is the Fade. It is too nice a place. There were no dangerous creatures trying to trick them. It was just so _real_.

"My gracious daughter - who is this precious chap?"

That voice. A hand clasps onto her shoulder. She sees Maddox's politely surprised expression before she looks up. From here she sees the familiar fulsome smile and freckles, "Hello mother."

She feels trepidation. Her mother is not likely to be here unless she was having a very lucid dream. The greater possibility is that this is a demon. "You almost appear more excited to see him than you are to see me?"

"Ah, but why wouldn't I be?" her mother muses with a kind smile. She approaches the side of the table that Maddox is on, "He is such a gentleman. How did you two meet?"

"Could you guess where we met, mother?" Phillipa interrupts, growing increasingly suspicious.

"You could have met anywhere," her mother picks up a napkin and dabs some smudges from Maddox's neck, "would you like to visit my house after your get together?"

Before the woman could pour Maddox some more water, Phillipa takes a breath and searches for a line from the Chant so she can focus on her task. This wasn't right. Her real mother would never invite a boy over to the house, not without meeting his parents first, and certainly not within moments of meeting him. As nice as the offer sounded, it was a falsehood. This was most definitely a demon, and Maddox wouldn't be able to determine this. It is _her_ personal demon.

It had to be destroyed.

Their date is going to end prematurely.

" _Heart that is broken, beats still unceasing_ ," she mutters to herself, very fast. Maddox realizes what she is about to do and jumps out of his seat, " _An ocean of sorrow does nobody drown_!"

In a blinding flash the imitation of the Templar's mother is struck down. It lets out a screech, and makes itself visible as a desire demon.

"Maddox!" Phillipa calls, but the mage is quicker. He is already preparing a spell, as the demon thrives on the ground, only wounded.

"Give me a second…" he raises his voice.

There is another flash and Honnleath disappears.

* * *

They reappear in a room with grey walls, and two bunks that can rest four people. It is quiet and empty. Maddox is on the ground, appearing pale and exhausted.

"Where…" Phillipa starts, looking around, "Are we in the Gallows?"

"This is my quarters," Maddox manages between large pauses.

"Maker, someone will find us!" she gasps, jumping on the spot. "What about the kitchens?"

"We're still in the Fade," he says calmly, "I only took us somewhere else. I need to rest."

Phillipa goes silent. She realizes she is still wearing the gold and white dress and he, the commoner clothing. She should have realized they were still in the Fade.

"Why?" she asks, "We need to leave the Fade before more demons come."

Maddox points to the closed door as he recovers, "I guess the Fade gave me what I wanted. Privacy. Though I'm sorry the demons got you."

"I am mystified… it was all _my_ wishes and dreams," she whispers, "Not yours. That demon was none of yours. Isn't that ironic? The only part missing was… oh, I don't know."

"I have an idea." Maddox says, peering rather innocently up at her, "How about I walk you home, as though we were leaving the tavern? Like nobody interrupted us?"

"Home?" the blonde chuckles, "Maddox, you are misled. This is home, isn't it?"

"Well, it isn't where we started." he remarks.

"Does it have to be?" Phillipa asks, and she surprises herself by saying, "I don't want to leave _at all_."

Even if it is true. They couldn't go on dates in the real world.

Maddox's smile is both understanding and hurt. He holds out a hand.

"We can go on another date." He mentions.

The woman is worried. He said if it went sourly there would be no more dates.

"What about the demons?"

"We will fight them." Maddox says, "Just like how we just did."

Phillipa takes his hand and the mage leads her out the door of his quarters. She learns where his quarters are in proportion to everyone else's. She feels nervous that everybody sees the couple holding hands, even if it isn't truly real. It looks convincing enough. Mages stare as they pass.

 _What if the Knight Commander sees?_ The Templar worries, though she reminds herself it isn't real. Constantly. Though, she admits, she wishes it is real.

She deeply yearns for the Gallows to be a place where anybody can walk down a hall hand in hand. Mages and mages, Templars and Templars... and a mage and a Templar.

"Hey, Maddox? What you doing?"

"Who's the pretty girl?"

Maddox turns to Phillipa, not bothered that they are holding hands, "Should we run?"

The Templar hesitates, unsure if Maddox can even run, "You look too exhausted."

The mage sighs, "Yeah, I am."

He sounds sad. Finding it easier to look at Maddox than the crowd, Phillipa bends her knees, "Let me carry you."

Maddox looks as though the Maker himself has blessed him, "I can pretend to be sick and then you'll have to take care of me."

Rather awkwardly, Phillipa braces her legs as the mage climbs onto her back and she grabs his legs. It is lucky she is physically strong. She realizes she likes the feel of his body against hers, even though it is weak and soft.

* * *

By the time they reach the floor where Phillipa's quarters are, she does not stop in front of her own quarters, but Cullen and Samson's room. There is something she wishes to do here.

"Why are we here?" Maddox asks, "Whose room is this?"

Not wanting to explain, but simply act, she places her date on the ground and knocks on the door. It opens for her. Bewildered, she enters and waves at Samson on his bed in his Templar armor, "Good morning."

"You look like you've had a more eventful afternoon than anybody in this ruddy prison?" this imitation of Samson observes, "Why did you bring Maddox here?"

"Heeyy!" Maddox waves frantically at their mutual friend.

"Yes, I'm extremely curious to know as well."

Phillipa turns behind her and sees who she truly wanted to speak to, "Cullen," she begins, "I know you are a dear childhood friend, but there is a lot you don't know. You are unaware that when two persons are in love, no matter _who_ they are, what title they possess, they will fight their mightiest to be together." she takes a deep breath, "and you can despise me if you like, demon, but I want you to know your opinion does not change anything! I adore this man, and I will banish every single one of you to spend time with him, if that is what my duty asks of me."

This version of Cullen laughs, "Sweet Maker. Phillipa, I wouldn't have had a single objection. There is no reason to be so…"

These demons are overt in their temptations and they are pathetic. It is all a lie – she knows the real Cullen would object, as he had already expressed concerns numerous times, and oh how did she understand the concern… but it wasn't enough to stop her. The Templar feels stronger and better able to concentrate.

With the speed only matched by the slash of a sword, Phillipa's hand is its own weapon. It cuts through the air and strikes the demon down without any need for the Chant to focus her. Cullen is only seen to be distorted by harsh burns for only a moment, for a humanoid shaped creature with slimey lilac skin appears, a desire demon.

It is only injured. Like before, the blow isn't enough to destroy it outright. From behind her, there is the sound of hissing, possibly from the demon that had taken the form of Samson. Though there is little time to react. Someone else interrupts the fight. With a tug, she feels a pair of hands pull her dress down from the collar. Startled, Phillipa buckles at the knees and the room is a blur as a pair of lips met hers, slightly cold though needing of her. As the demons roar from all sides the woman tries to focus on the kiss instead as the sound becomes distorted, neither seeming far away or close by. There is no demon taunting her, but a lover who wishes for her happiness. She prays for his happiness too.

A familiar blue flashes from behind her closed eyelids, and while Maddox is physically drained from his tricks, she does not doubt that he can succeed in pulling them out, for in the Fade their love made them strong.

* * *

The cellar looks the same as it had before they left, the barrels and bottles of alcohol unassuming and towering over them from the ground. Her body feels stiff, and her hips are numb from sitting in one place for so long, though her head is rested against Maddox's head. That felt nice.

 _It was only the Fade_ , she tells herself, _It didn't happen here._

Doubt fills her. Honnleath was so real, and yet here was the cellar to prove the Gallows had no evidence of the treachery, a colourless and pale world.

The rules had been broken, without any semblance of a doubt. She is a Templar who is throwing away her duty for a mage. Almost fearful, Phillipa brings fingers to her lips.

"Was…" she hesitates, knowing how silly it sounded, "Was any of that real?"

Now that it was gone, it felt too wonderful to have actually happened, even with a demon interrupting their date.

Maddox stirs from beside her, finding the keys in his pocket, "It was as real to you as it was to me," like he is recovering from a severe illness, he stumbles to his knees and crawls so their gazes are in line, "but it can't last."

Even his voice is heavy from exhaustion. They are expected to go about their day like this, fatigued and full of sweet memories.

The blonde peers into the mage's gentle eyes with sadness. She knows why none of it can last, but it doesn't stop her asking the Maker why, "I want it to."

With fingers like ice she touches his jawline and he doesn't flinch from the cold. She could have died. They both could have died, though morality had never felt so easy to fling away. As the guilt and doubt curdle inside, tears threaten to fall, "Maddox," she whispers, her breath near condensation on his skin, "am I a stupid fool? Am I a terrible person because I love you?"

She feels her face get hot, even if the rest of her is still recovering from the lack of circulation. She has never told a boy that, only her parents and Zoe one time. He doesn't seem taken aback by the words. When it came down to it, this was the rule that allowed all the other ones to scrape against each other. Templars are not allowed to have feelings for mages, and vice versa. It is the most awful rule of them all, the most self-destructive.

Maddox tries to smile, but it is obvious he doesn't feel like it, "Am I a monster because I love you too?"

"No." her body awkward to move from frost, Phillipa kisses Maddox's cheek, "I think you are wonderful."

The mage touches Phillipa's nose with his. In silence they stay like this, not wanting to announce their goodbye. Though his words lift her spirits, as quiet as if the room is full of onlookers, "You are wonderful too."

They share their second kiss in the physical realm with numbed features; though lose themselves in it anyway, forgetting how long it lasts. Like the Fade, they want it to continue, but as real as it is, as much as it reminds her of dreaming and perfection, it couldn't last.

Phillipa still wishes it could.

* * *

 _Authors Notes:_ These chapters keep getting longer and longer! Hope you all enjoyed it. Now that I've drafted the rest of the story, I'm pretty sure this romance is so much worse than Solas's.


	13. Chapter 13

 

Phillipa heaves a large leather satchel over her shoulder. She is preparing to join the Templars at six years old. The girl plods outside her room to find her father writing notes at the dining room table. He is in his forties and his blonde mustache has some grey hairs in it.

The tip-tap of tiny shoes on the wooden flooring makes her father tap his foot along with it. The two of them adore music, "Let me have a look at you, gracious daughter."

Little Phillipa looks innocently up at her father. He is so tall that the girl could have been trying to observe the ceiling.

"If someone had told me I'd have such a gorgeous, well behaved daughter I wouldn't have been undecided about parenthood for so long!" he remarks, though he looks emotional. He pushes his thick brimmed glasses up his nose, "Tell me what you've packed."

Phillipa lists off her belongings by counting on her fingers. The house is obsessively organized, with books, papers, quills and even dinner ware having specific homes. This makes it easy to find what to pack. Though it also stresses out her father when there are possessions out of order or missing.

Like everything in her bag.

Her father sighs, "Why didn't I become Templar Esmond?"

It is a rhetorical question, though Phillipa responds, "Lyrium will make you get older faster."

Her father laughs and readjusts the bag on her shoulder. "You are not supposed to remember that. Where do you get your ears? Oh, your mother..."

The girl twirls a strand of hair around a finger, "I'm ready to leave."

"I don't think I'm ever going to be ready for that, Phillipa," the man clutches her hand tightly and they depart the house, "at least my address is with you and we will not be truly apart."

* * *

The Templar, almost two decades later, stands in the same room, though she is with a boy. To the Gallows, he is a mage. To her, he is a gentleman. To her father, Phillipa has no doubt he would be interpreted as a threat to her modesty.

Maddox, wearing a long sleeved shirt with a tie, pokes the sullen figure of her father, bending over the dining room table and writing with a metal tipped pen. His wrinkles are deeper, and his blonde hair has more grey, though in a dreaming state he still has kindness and those glasses that magnify his blue eyes. The mauve walls are identical, along with the meticulous order to the objects in it. The parent is not behaving the same.

"Don't do that!" Phillipa hisses, feeling slightly panicked, "even if we could make his dream more lucid, I highly doubt he would be pleased to meet you."

"Are you sure?" the mage inquires, rearranging some of her father's hair, "He sounds nice from what you've told me about him. Did you ever have to wake him while living with him?"

"You may have a point," the Templar responds stiffly, ignoring the last question, "at least my mother would be stricter when it comes to a young man."

She doesn't want to explain she used to wake her father when she had the odd nightmare.

Maddox abandons her parent, "It's so weird to see an adult without armor on.' he says, "You don't think I'm charming enough to impress him?"

Phillipa fixes up the mage's tie, a gift she'd purchased at the beginning of their Fade date. "Your patience will do a lot more good."

"I'm not patient enough?" Maddox repeats, his eyes widening.

The blonde sighs and reminisces on the right memory to explain.

* * *

Little Phillipa enters the Chantry with her father.

Her heart pounds. She adores the large golden statues, high ceiling and the red rugs, though she doesn't enjoy them now. She sees three Templars in the corner, discussing matters with the Grand Cleric. They look so big and strong, the blade signet glittering in the light. She usually adores them too, though now they are a tad intimidating.

Suddenly, she is afraid of leaving her father. The girl clutches his leg, as tight as she can grip it, and her shoes drag along the floorboards with a rattle.

"I was starting to think you were happy to have me gone!" Esmond laughs, "Darling. This is your choice, though I remember how excited you were to meet the Templars! You've been dying to join them for months."

Phillipa agrees with her father, though, "I'm scared the work demon will swallow you if I leave."

"Where did you hear that?" Esmond scratches his head, "Very well, that one was me. I will be fine, gracious daughter. Please, the Maker will be with you as well. The Maker will insure work does not take me away from you. You can visit every weekend if you wish."

Her grip slackens, "Next weekend."

It is unnerving when her parent does not answer.

Now the Templars were getting closer, her father bends to his knees and hugs her, "My precious daughter. Looking at those Templars reminds me," he sighs, "My mother used to tell my sisters this, and maybe you don't understand now, though the one sister who did listen was happy for the advice, Maker bless her."

"What is it?" Phillipa asks.

" _Guard your modesty, for it is costly to lose it_." her father said softly.

"What does it mean?"

The man Kirkwall knew as Professor Esmond takes her hand as they approach the Templars, "Andraste, I… you are too young." Phillipa puts on her most polite smile as she steps closer to the Templars, "The best I can explain – your clothes are like a shield. Remove them, and the wounds can be severe and long lasting."

The Templars stop talking to the Grand Cleric and spot Phillipa. Even if they are bigger than her and stronger, their eyes light up with an involuntary protectiveness that most do when seeing her. The prepubescent is too enraptured to look away. These men know who she is. They'd agreed she is worthy to join their cause.

"Your training ends at 18," her father's voice is distant and far away, "I'm not sure how often I will get to see you, when I will next be blessed with that opportunity, though you will most likely grasp what I mean before then. I pray to the Maker you do, in any case. I don't want your heart shredded to pieces by some halfwit."

"I'll have a real shield, father," Phillipa mentions lightly, and giving his leg a final hug, she abandons his gaze and approaches the Templars. She doesn't understand why she would take off her clothes around a boy. That is a silly thing to do. Her father is a little silly sometimes.

One of the men, with a very strangely shaped beard, rests a hand on her shoulder.

"Welcome, sister," he says, "We depart for the Gallows in ten minutes. Are there any prayers you would like to make, or any extra words you'd like to give to your father?"

Phillipa spins to look at her caregiver, though he dabbing at his eyes with the handkerchief he saves for cleaning his glasses. She knows he loves her. He knows she loves him, "There is nothing I need to do, Ser Knight Templar."

* * *

"I told you don't worry about that," Maddox uncrosses his legs from on one of the chairs, "Besides, I doubt I count as the idiot your father was talking about." Phillipa shrugs, uncertain, which prompts the mage to ask, "Have you known Zoe since you were 18?"

"Training," she answers, "The quarters we receive in-training are different to when it is complete, though the trainers are happy to re-arrange rooms on request… and if they like you."

"I can guess!" Maddox punches a fist in the air, "You were so delightful they agreed to let the two of you share rooms?"

"That, and Zoe's first roommate left the Order in training," Phillipa says, "I don't know why but she had a strong adverse reaction to lyrium, quite rare."

"I know one mage who has that." Maddox remarks, "She is always exhausted because lyrium doesn't agree with her… has had her Harrowing organized then delayed twice. Sadly they can't help her much, though one of the nurses recommended she eat differently. It must be like being allergic to butter."

"My mother would be very upset if I was allergic to butter." Phillipa cackles, remembering the original question, "Training Templars spend a lot more time in the Chantry and doing combat training, so in Kirkwall we did drills and fitness out in mountain ranges. I met Zoe because she accidentally gave one of the trainer's a bloody nose, and was paired with me because they sometimes said I was too mechanical. We went nicely together."

She continues explaining detail after detail to Maddox as he asks, even as they lie down on the rug and alternate between observing the ceiling, the bookshelf and each other's eyes.

"My father and I used to go for walks to the Sundermount and I tried to find leaves to make prints out of." The Templar explains, "So training felt similar to home."

She discovers quickly that the conversation is rather one sided.

"My father's research is about increasing the potency of antidotes."

"That's a boat I made out of sticks. Mia and I used to make them a long time ago."

Finally, "My mother and father never fought when they divorced. It was sensible and diplomatic. I didn't realize anything was wrong when it happened, not until I was told we were moving away."

"Didn't you want to be with your mother?" Maddox wonders, "Your friends were in Honnleath, not Kirkwall."

"My mother told me to go with my father," Phillipa replies, "she said she didn't earn enough money to raise me all on her own. She wouldn't be able to do it by herself, and she thought I'd enjoy travelling. I remember how she was crying when she told me. It made me sad but I accepted it. My father still loves her, I think. They exchange coin in the mail occasionally, and my mother packages us some treats. He says they just couldn't be together."

"That sounds familiar," Maddox smiles ruefully at the comment.

Phillipa notices this also makes her a little lonely too.

"I'm sorry I can't think of much to say," he mentions for the third time. He never has much to say about himself. He doesn't have any stories outside of the Circle, so the Templar went to great lengths to describe the scenery.

"It does not bother me," Phillipa points out, which is the absolute truth, "I do not have that many memories outside of the Circle, either. Only a few years more than you…"

All thought vanishes as they share more kisses. Compared to the real world, in the Fade they have done this countless times. Every time, rather than getting boring, it becomes more intense. Phillipa feels like she wants to disregard her father's advice, even if her vow is still firmly lodged and committed to. She allows her chest to touch his, her thighs to rest against his. Her head spins.

 _This is a perfect_ , she thinks.

The atmosphere implodes from the unmistakable feel of another pair of knuckles that wrap around Maddox's chest from his other side, pressing against the Templar's belly. Abandoning the kiss, Phillipa's gaze lowers, her heart pounding for a different reason.

The bizarreness of seeing a pair of hands that appear exactly as her own cannot be understated. There is no question of whom those pale, long fingers and callouses belong to. There is somebody else here, somebody who looks like her, who slewed its way into Maddox's mind.

Maddox's expression reflects surprise, though a pleasant one. He flinches slightly to feel the perfectly replicated face of Phillipa resting on his shoulder. The brown of the eyes are the same, though as they bore into the Templar's eyes, the soul within them is not.

"There's two of you!" he says. It is unclear if he is happy or pretending to be happy, "though I don't remember inviting _you_ in, young lady!"

 _This is a threat, not a visitor! He must know she's a demon_ , she justifies, _he must, and yet why is he joking around?_

Phillipa wants to say 'Neither did I, and this is _my_ house!' though no words arrive. She is mortified to look at an identical replica of herself unbutton Maddox's shirt.

There goes the button from one around his middle, and then the one directly above, and finally the one below. Repeat. Slowly. Repeat. She sees the skin underneath and thinks about how warm and soft it must feel beneath her fingers.

She blushes as the mage does not do anything to stop the illusion.

 _This is what Maddox desires_ , she repeats it to herself, _even if it is obvious._

She already knew this is what he wants, though it is confronting to see it in front of her.

A very curious part of her wants to keep watching. She wants to learn what Maddox is truly thinking, what he has been repressing from her. How far would he allow this demon to tempt him?

 _No!_ Phillipa retorts angrily, _you fool, that is a terrible and dangerous idea._

Though she is too flustered to strike it down and so she watches as Maddox becomes distracted by it, though there is guilt in his face at the demon's command, "Take off your clothes, my love. Take them all off for me."

 _Come on, Maddox, you cannot be seduced so easily!_ Phillipa wants to argue with him, though again, her curiosity overwhelms her. Even if the demon speaks in her voice, she would never say something like that. Not like _that_! _Is this truly some fantasy of his? Terrible!_

Maddox rolls over so the exact replica of Phillipa is lying on the ground and moves so close to the woman's face that the words are nearly inaudible, "I want to."

 _Don't do it!_ Again, her inner monologue is far louder than her actual words, _Be strong. Resist the demon._

It is when Maddox kisses the demon and removes his shirt that it becomes obvious. He is not the only one being seduced by the demon. Inadvertently or not, Phillipa is unable to stay faithful to her duty. Overcome with infatuation, his uneven physique makes her breath hitch.

As bizarre as the experience is to watch Maddox lie on top of a woman who looks identical to her, as though she is not in her own body, there is power in it. She wants to see how far Maddox will take this, wants to understand how much he wants her, and craves to feel it. She wishes she could be the demon, though have no consequences for the behavior.

 _Move!_ She urges herself, _if you give in to this Maker forbid curiosity of yours Maddox will become possessed and the two of you will get in so much trouble! He needs you to protect him._

Her thoughts slow as the demon removes her own shirt, something similar to what Maddox is wearing, only to reveal… an exact replica of her breasts underneath. Oh Maker. The embarrassment is coupled with an irrefutable arousal. She didn't want Maddox to see that! No! Or… did she?

She doesn't want to see his reaction, disgust or not. It would be too intense.

Phillipa closes her eyes. Think on the Chant. Think on the Chant.

Nothing comes to mind, though she does hear a moan from the demon – terrible! She hopes she doesn't sound like that – and the clink of a belt being undone. _Maddox's_ belt.

This has to stop.

The Templar ponders on theory from her early training. Demons thrive on fulfilling temptations, so one means she could stop it is to remove the need for the demon to be there. If she could distract Maddox enough, they might be able to defeat the demon together.

This means that she has to be one step ahead of the demon.

She takes a breath. It is alright.

It is her demon as well as his. Drastic action, perhaps perverse action, is necessary. She couldn't do this on her own. She needs him. And she _does_ want him. She desires to know what he desires, though… watching a demon take over his mind is not the proper way to discover these answers.

 _Sorry, father,_ she sends her thoughts to the dreaming figure on the other side of the room.

Keeping her eyes closed, the Templar sits up and grips the sides of her dress, "Two can play at that game, demon."

The words are strong and filled with anger.

It startles her when the mage doesn't  protest when the fabric gets caught in her hair. Perhaps he is not paying attention when Philipa pulls the gown off and tosses it to the ground. She opens her eyes, seeing white lingerie on her almost bare form. She doesn't own anything that pretty! This is giving off the false impression of how attractive her clothes are.

She feels heat spread to not only her face, but between her thighs, though the demon runs a hand underneath Maddox's trousers now. What a rude demon!

"Maddox!" Phillipa shouts, she crawls closer to them and kisses Maddox's very attractive arm, "Fight it! I'm right here! Look at me! Please, I beg you."

The mage twists his neck to watch her. As he does, it partially breaks him from the illusion. The terror in his eyes is immediate and immeasurable, as if he might faint, "Phillipa! I'm sorry, I… I'm a weakling."

"You're not!" she growls, forcing herself not to look at the demon fondling her man, "I know you can fight it. Destroy it and I will…" she gulps. "I'll touch you how the demon is."

"You shouldn't have to be put under that kind of pressure." Maddox is red now, "Put your dress back on. You don't have to do this."

"Possession is a worse fate."

The mage suppresses a moan as the demon continues. For a moment, Phillipa is distracted by the sound of his voice. _That_ is what he sounds like when he is being physically pleasured. By Andraste, it is far better than what the demon sounds like.

The monster whispers that it needs him in a terrible sultry voice the real Phillipa would never use.

"NO, I need you!" Phillipa protests, tugging on the mage's arm, though it doesn't seem to be working. "Don't worry. The demon is giving me ideas too, and I like it. I know what this means to you too."

"Can you kill it?" Maddox asks her, grabbing hold of the demons wrists, though he doesn't move beyond that, "I – I can't today. I'm sorry, angel. The… I'm too weak. I'm too tempted by even an imitation of you. I know it's a good imitation but still. That's irresponsible and I'm so sorry."

 _I can destroy it,_ the Templar thinks, pleased that she is getting through to him, _because you are with me._

Clearing her mind by filling it with the Chant, she recites, "... _In sorrow does nobody drown!"_

With trembling knees, she thrusts a wrist forward. The demon is only wounded by the attack, a laceration like one of a blade destructs its neck and chest, though it is enough that it shrieks like the malicious monster it is.

This snaps Maddox completely from infatuation as patches of the demon's skin change to lilac and her teeth turn to fangs.

The Templar is not surprised she is getting weaker too, though when she strikes at it a second time, Maddox closely follows it with an ice spell. The noise is painful, though they do not falter.

The demon cannot fight back. It bursts apart in a gory mess.

Silence falls. Phillipa has never seen her father's house look so foul.

All that remains are ashes, sticky green blood and pieces of different colored flesh, a monster confused by its own imagination.

The mage scrambles back on the rug like he is avoiding a giant spider. All the while, he continues to stare at the aftermath.

The Templar tries to catch her breath. She feels as though she was seduced by the demon– or even possessed and fought herself out of it. Maker, fighting off monsters is exhausting!

All that remains are a grotesque stink, Maddox's shirt both wrecked with fire and stuck to the rug with ice, and Phillipa's beautiful, but lonely dress in front of her, gently sizzling with smoke. The couple are separated by these temptations and the threat of consumption by them. It is a narrow escape. They only stare wide eyed, disbelieving, or perhaps, too wholly believing despite the cruelty.

Silence continues, though she watches the mage hug his knees and hide his face. "I'm so sorry. I was hoping those demons would remain in my dreams."

His voice is full of shame.

The woman does not feel cold without a dress. Enticed by the images of what she has just seen intrude her mind, and overwhelm her with as much sympathy as she is fear.

"It distracted me too," Phillipa admits, "You are not the sole at fault, but we destroyed it and that is what is important."

She hopes they will get stronger for this. They will learn from their mistakes. Maybe they do not need to be so protective of their inner most desires. Perhaps this is what is required for their safety.

It is a very strange thought, one that contradicts everything Phillipa stands for.

But she needs to stand for something else here.

 In the Fade, ones innermost desires chase its prey. It is dangerous to not be aware of them, or suppress them.

"But I couldn't fight it on my own," Maddox almost sounds close to tears, "Say I do my Harrowing tomorrow. Dead."

She knows that she shouldn't go to the Fade anymore with the mage, but perhaps they could learn to do better. Perhaps they are already learning. It is only one more obstacle.

More than that, she likes the pleasant parts of the date too much.

"That is why I agreed to come with you," Phillipa reminds him, softly, taking a lonely shuffle toward him with her knees, "You will do your Harrowing when the First Enchanter deems it suitable."

Maddox does not answer.

Silence continues.

All that remains is sadness.

"Put your dress back on, Phillipa." He tells her.

The woman hears her heart pound in her ears, louder. She knows what about the demon immobilized her, and ignoring it is only making her easier prey in the Fade, "I don't want to."

She pushes a thought away. It is not strong enough to form as sentences in her mind, though it remains as a bubbling presence. This empathy within desires to add that if at 13 she had known she was going to meet Maddox in future, she wouldn't have taken her vow, because even though it is impossible to be united in their current circumstances, she wants to have him by her side.

Possibly even forever.

"Put it back on," Maddox repeats, hitting his temples with his palm, "I don't want another demon showing up. To think the longer we stay here the more they know our weaknesses. What are we doing here, Phillipa?! What am I going to do when it is time for my Harrowing? I'll be such an easy target!"

It is the first time she hears him so angry and she feels her heart shatter at the sound. He moves his hands away and he is in tears. The blonde stands, lingerie and all, and sits down on the ground with him, though positions her legs in a way that is not overly provocative.

"We shall learn to fight them," she concludes, "and we will win."

Maddox can't bring himself to look at her, "How can you say that given what just happened?"

"I love you." Phillipa says firmly, and she has never been so sure of the words, "I do not care what the demons do or say, I will _train_ you to fight them." she recalls a matter she always intends to mention but forgets until now, "Can you try harder to be sensible in the Circle? I understand you don't like it, though the quicker you can do your true Harrowing and be acknowledged as a fully trained mage… if anybody finds out about us at least Tranquility is not allowed to be one of the punishments."

She hates saying it out loud. Every one of her Templar friends knew what punishments were there for mages, though she is not sure Maddox knows. Judging by the lack of an angry reaction, she suspects the mage does.

"I already try to be better," he says, somewhat worn out, "but write to me some books you'd recommend, some spells. I'll take a look. Maker knows the library is filled with the same topic regurgitated five hundred times. And if it makes life easier for us, I'm all for it."

"Thank you." Phillipa rests a hand on his arm again, though Maddox removes it.

She is disheartened that the mage couldn't push away the demon like that, but now he is pushing her away.

That isn't fair. Her heart aches.

She remembers what Zoe tells her once about Phillipa not having to break her vow, and she runs her hands over her legs to try stop the goosebumps, "Maddox, I want you to be with me, I want you to look at me."

"Shut up!" the mage shouts, still avoiding looking at her, "I know – you've just had your head messed with. So have I. We're not supposed to make decisions right now. Stop saying things like that."

She appreciates her lover's words, but Phillipa also knows that if she is feeling coerced, she would feel nervous, but she feels strong.

She knows who she wants.

"Right now we are not bound by the Circle," she continues, trying to speak even softer, "and if we have to wander in the Fade for that to be so, I don't want to ever leave."

This is also one of the demons tricks, to lure its victims into not wanting to leave, but neither one of them cared in that moment. After more silence and saddened sniffles, Maddox raises his head to look at her. His eyes are bloodshot, though his handsomeness is more apparent to her than ever.

"I don't want to leave either," he ushered under his breath, "And by the First Enchanter, we are not supposed to be saying that."

"It is the truth, and I will embrace it." Phillipa said, "Therefore the demons will have less power over us."

With a shuddering hand, the mage holds out shaking fingers and runs them over the surface of her hair, in waves from the chaos. "Can we just pretend this is the real world, while we are here?"

"Yes!" Phillipa feels overjoyed by the words, "Great idea."

Suddenly there is a glimmer of true freedom in their hearts, even if it is twisting their perception of reality on its head. This world feels as a real as any other, despite the strange fogginess if one looks close enough. Perhaps the Fade is the real world, and everybody else is mistaken.

 _Why am I thinking this?_ Phillipa thinks, slightly bothered by her own delusion.

"It's awful," Maddox says, "but I've never been talented at following rules. Sorry. I won't allow myself to be consumed by a replica of you again."

Phillipa nods. The sadness is easily overlooked by hope. All they still require is the desire to go back home.

The Templar thinks about what her charges might learn today and is inspired. "Before we go to sleep, there is one promise I'd like to fulfill."

With her man's eyes on her, Phillipa pulls on the unbuckled belt and drags it out until it is on the ground beside her. Maddox understands immediately. She wants to finish what the demon started with her hands.

"Only promise this is what you want," he says, "and that you acknowledge the warning. It probably won't take long."

"I promise." She giggles, "The warning does not concern me one bit! It shall augment my confidence."

* * *

The two return to the Gallows in one of the locked showers, fully clothed, sitting on the benches designed for towels, their feet interlocked. Like before, their muscles ache like murder. By the light in one of the windows, it is almost breakfast time.

Immediately, as though to check their Fade adventure was real, her eyes dart to Maddox's hips and she brings a hand to her mouth in embarrassment to see he is both excited for her and there are a few stains on the night clothes. Knowing they are not permitted to speak, Maddox grins and shrugs, as though to mention, 'Fancy that.'

They kiss once before departing, Maddox first, and Phillipa next.

* * *

"What are you grinning for?" Zoe demands with amusement, abandoning her fruit salad temporarily. Preparing for the day is more difficult than usual from her aching joints and sleep deprivation, though she can still smile.

"I am looking forward to the days gifts," the blonde assures her, "Are you trying to tell me you're not?"

Zoe grins, "It might be a good day." she waves, "Look, company."

The woman turns around in her chair to see Cullen and Samson, heading toward their table. They always sat at the same table, in the same arrangement. It is stable, unchanging and safe.

"Don't get too flustered around Samson, sister," Philipa advises with a smile, wanting to tease rather than give a serious warning.

"I never do," Zoe says pointedly, "more than that, I have no reason to."

It is not clear if Zoe is less spiteful toward Samson's awkward stabs at conversation with her because she is in a good mood or if there is true patience developing there. Either way, Phillipa thanks the Maker for her friends and good fortune.

* * *

 _Authors Notes_ : I completely re-wrote the first half of this because I hated it, added in the stuff about Phillipa's dad. I'm really pleased I did. The rest of the chapter is mostly the same. It was fun to write. Hope readers like it.


	14. Chapter 14

* * *

Phillipa loses track of time. It is water pouring through her fingers. The pages of an enthralling novel, letter by letter, dream to waking hours, she does not know how to distinguish chapter to chapter.

Though it is in the Fade where her relationship with Maddox progresses, and where her thoughts cease to function, like gifts waiting a special time and place to surprise someone.

There is the distinct fuzziness around the edges of a bookshelf. Maddox is sitting in a red leather arm chair, something Phillipa remembers from her father's study in Honnleath, not part of the Gallows. It is on a forty five degree angle to her. He is neither completely looking at her, nor peering away.

The Templar unravels her thoughts and permits them to fly. It is outside of her mind where they are visible. Her secrets are now a stroller that is never left out of sight, a treasure no stranger can ransack.

A linen long sleeved shirt neatly curves to her form, though her thighs are bare. Cream lace covers her modesty. There is no cold, a contrast to the barren Gallows library.

She is the portrayal of a studious adolescent in summer, too languid and at ease with privacy to dress properly.

"Is that outfit something you'd really wear or is my mind playing tricks on me?" Maddox says. He tries not to smile, but he is doing a poor job.

 _I believe it is a combination of both,_ Phillipa is about to say, though she stops herself.

The Fade is not like the waking world. If a person does not embrace their thoughts, a demon will seek to exploit them.

 _That must not happen_ , Phillipa tells herself, _it will not happen again._ _What would a demon do?_

She tries to grin like the more flirtatious girls in the Circle, in a way she hopes is intriguing. "It is all for you, my forever."

She uses the term of endearment as this is how she always imagines calling a future husband. Though, perhaps Maddox doesn't like it. The blonde keeps telling herself Maddox is prey to dispel the blush she feels rising at his admiring regard.

Keeping up a front is dangerous.

She does her best imitation of rolling her hips as she walks, though since she is not curvy, it doesn't look as good as she hopes. "Do you desire the heat of passion for this lovelorn maiden?"

It is a line from a romance novel she likes.

The mage alters how is seated so he can properly see her. "More than is healthy."

 _Stop ogling me, you fool!_ Phillipa criticizes internally, _you are supposed to attack me!_

She brings her fingers to the button pattern of the sofa and follows it in a circle around Maddox, though his eyes follow her.

"What is wrong about love?" she tests.

"The fact you're over there and I'm over here." Maddox smiles.

 _No, don't smile!_ Phillipa is finding it difficult to keep her impartiality, _Stop dazzling me._

Openness is safety.

The woman removes her fingers from the leather and runs it up Maddox's hand to his arm, instead, slowly. She doesn't want to make this too difficult.

 _Come on, Maddox!_ She begs him, _Move! Strike me!_

Openness is sanctuary.

Her fingers lightly make creases in his shirt and she traces his collarbone, her thighs touching his knees. "I am with you now, my forever."

_This is your last chance._

The mage grins now, and it is one of those smiles that should be illegal. "You'll never be close enough to me."

He leans forward and his hands wrap around the back of her knees.

_Your chances are gone._

" _Blessed_ are they who stand before the _corrupt and_ the wicked," she places a hand to his head, "and _do not falter_!"

A beam of blue light burst from the heavens and quickly dissipates as it meets Maddox's skin, though the mage becomes immobilized. There is no more talking or teasing. She steps away from his hands, frozen in mid-air.

Phillipa sits down on the floor and groans, covering her face in her hands. It is not the first time it ends like this. How can she better teach him to defy a demon?

She meditates on the Maker and focuses her mind while the mage is able to move.

Exposure to temptation is not like the Gallows principles at all. The Templar does not understand why the Circle does not acknowledge this in its rules. From what little she knew of Tevinter, their culture does not work in this same fashion. Life is different for mages there.

Maddox sounds equally frustrated, "Sorry, Phillipa."

She wipes her eyes, teary from exhaustion, and looks up at the crimson of the chair, "I simply do not understand. I can easily strike you down, though you cannot do the same for me."

"You're trained to attack demons." He points out, "we're not."

 _Yes, yes, I know,_ Phillipa thinks to herself. "How can I make it easier? This must be too much."

Maddox looks steely faced, "I don't want to attack you. I know it's you."

"When the actual demon was there you didn't attack it either." Phillipa remarks, "and in the Fade a demon will claim to be me."

"I don't want to hurt you." Maddox corrects, sliding off the chair to join her on the floor, "What if you didn't defend yourself in time and got injured?"

"Our injuries would get tended to." Phillipa says, feeling slightly less uncomfortable in her very little clothing, "though the chance is very small. Templar powers are designed to counter magic.'

"What if I'm stronger than you?" he inquires.

Phillipa gave what she hopes isn't a condescending smile, "It is unlikely you will be stronger than me if you have rarely practiced." She hesitates, "What allowed you to help me in the Fade with the demon?"

The mage pauses, "I knew we had a better chance of getting rid of it together. I think if I had other mages with me I would be fine. It is intimidating to know you're being tested on, that there are all these expectations. Easier to snap out of it when it takes the demons true form as well."

"That is hopeful." Phillipa admits, "A demon changes back to its original form if it loses enough of its concentration, or it understands that it has been found out. You do not need to destroy it in one spell, though perhaps you could focus on breaking its concentration first? Or making it angry?"

"That sounds like something I can do." Maddox admits. He looks slightly calmer, "though next time could you stand in one place and not talk to me? I need to get used to actually using a spell on you first."

Phillipa sighs and nods. This is a fair plan. It is an improvement on the strategy. She crawls to him and hugs him, "I apologize for all this trouble."

She likes that even in the Fade he smells of books and lightly of sandalwood.

"No, it's useful." Maddox says, "I'm getting a real taste of how to fight demons."

She squeezes him, "Can we go to the Courtyard? I'd like to row the boat with you away to the Docks. But then we must return to the waking world."

The mage returns her hug with enough force to crush her, "That's only the best date idea ever!"

Phillipa wonders if he could hug the demons to oblivion instead and use his big heart against them, but she knows the risk of possession is too high.

* * *

The concept of time warps in the Fade. The Templar wonders if this is why she finds her ability to orientate herself is compromised after her dates with Maddox.

She doesn't know what day it is when she spends so long in the shower that when she returns to their quarters, Zoe points out, "You're acting different." She raises her eyebrows from her bed. "Have – I know I might be making something out of nothing, but have you been seeing Maddox in person?"

She doesn't know what day it is when Samson passes her a napkin with the same question written in ink.

She only knows that she lies.

* * *

Maddox zaps Phillipa with an electricity spell on his second attempt. The Templar only partially blocks it. She knows it is a thoughtless error, though she reassures him that this is the Fade and it is easily remedied. She likes to blame it on standing still and trying not to smile or show speak to him.

The mage takes her to a smithing shed and explains to her how to forge a sword. When she welds metal and sparks fly, she imagines she is altering the rules of the Gallows.

Here, she is learning in a more practical manner. There, as a fully-fledged Templar, it is heavily theory orientated.

Maddox fixes her mistakes and they decide to complete it another time.

* * *

The Templar understands that it is the end of the working week when Cullen asks for a private word in her quarters. He sits on Zoe's bed and rubs his hands together slowly, like unable to decide if he wants to make a fire. The light makes him appear almost inhuman.

"Phillipa," he begins, glancing at her, "As much as he tries to be discrete, I am paying enough attention to suspect Samson is still sending letters, and while I see how you may not listen to sense, and I cannot change it," he pauses, "This is difficult for me to admit. It is not my desire to have you punished, as tempting as it is. I will try my best to put my biases aside." His eyes meet hers, "Please do not hesitate to speak to me if you need help."

She replies with, "Thank you, Cullen. It is kind of you to offer your assistance, although I am well at the moment. I only have been spending a lot of nights late from reading novels. I will keep your offer in mind for the future, shall I ever need it." 

And isn't sure why her fingers tremble when the conversation closes and Cullen leaves.

* * *

Their next date is different to the others. They tire of demon practice.

They dance in the middle of Hightown to music by a street performer, though demons in the form of strangers distract them. The two ignore it until Maddox taunts one enough for it to change its form.

The two take it down. Then they run.

The couple dash along the wet patches of sand left by high tide waves of the Wounded Coast, until Maddox pushes Phillipa into the water when a wave crashes over their ankles.

It isn't the real ocean, but it feels as cold and smells as salty as the real one.

The entire half of her torso is covered in sand when she rises to her feet, though she unclogs her ear as the mage's laugh becomes more audible. Rather pathetically, she picks up some soaked sand and throws it at him.

"You're not afraid of hurting me now?" Phillipa asks, raising her fists to prepare for a duel.

"I can hurt your dignity any time." Maddox corrects, spraying water on her with hands because he is too exhausted to use magic, "my forever."

Maybe he does like me calling him that, she thinks.

Deep down, she wants it to be true.

Deep inside, she does not know what this would mean if it was.

For a second, she has a hope that their relationship can work. They can do this forever. She would, for him.

For a second, she wants it engraved in her spirit how it feels to be hopeful for the future.

Openness is freedom.

Phillipa isn't sure if her tears are from happiness or the sheer horror of the cold.

They should go back to the waking world now. It is important that they do.

Though neither of them want to. Not yet.

The sun glistens on the ocean surface and reflects the light from Maddox's eyes. Maybe she has shining eyes too. Maybe she looks as beautiful as he does. Just for that moment.

It is like the Maker saying hello to them, a kind greeting. That's how Phillipa sees it. She wants it to be true. She wants it to be a sign.

Maddox needs to preserve his magic to pull them from the Fade, so they walk to Hightown, freezing, but oddly liberated.

* * *

Shivering, they retreat to an inn, buy some hot cocoa, and sit by a fire in a locked room coddled by a blanket. It is a wonderful choice. Not even she has been here before.

The fireplace almost makes her feel at home. No demons, no risks of danger or possession. They can simply be.

It is an expensive, but small café. There is no light from outside. The rooms are very secluded, but extravagantly decorated with golden framed paintings and silk rugs. Phillipa squeezes the water out her hair into a bowl. Some of the sand has fallen into the floorboards beneath.

"I managed to get one demon out of four," Maddox remarks.

"You'll get better at it," she promises him, "You are good at magic."

"Sorry. I know I should have practiced today."

"You did get one demon out of four."

The Templar pushes the sand in the bowl to the edges, trying to see her reflection in the clear bowl. It is distorted. The murky pebbles form a circle.

Circles are supposed to represent unity. Not like the Kirkwall Circle. Not between mages and Templars.

She traces a line down the middle, breaking the Circle into two halves.

The mage watches silently, while some muffled Antivan music plays from another room.

_Running to you ...In my mind, my mind / Eres mi amor / Quiero estar contigo por siempre._

Phillipa wonders what the words mean.

"Do you really love me?" Maddox asks, "I mean… someone who can never leave the Circle."

"That doesn't matter to me," she reminds him, "I wasn't lying when I said it."

"Neither was I."

Maddox looks at his hands, "I don't want to be a mage. I wish I was born without these powers, like you."

"It is the rules you don't like, not your magic," Phillipa says, sternly correcting him, "Your magic is wonderful."

The two have discussed this countless number of times now.

Maddox hums pensively, moves closer to her and places his head on her shoulder.

"The rules are cruel," he agreed, placing a hand on her back, "I want to break another one."

"You can't break anything here," Phillipa remarks.

"There is potential I break you," Maddox says, "but it is not…"

The tone of the conversation changes as quickly as an ember spits out of the fire.

"Phillipa… I need to know something."

The blonde turns toward her mage in intrigue His eyes are hypnotized by the fire.

_In my mind, my mind, Juntos tu y yo / Nuestro destino fundido…_

His words are gentle as he is in the real world.

"Do you think much of how our fates would be different if we were ordinary people?"

Phillipa frowns. The answer to that is obvious, though she doesn't like thinking about it.

Her heart pumps madly and she almost knocks over her cocoa, but she grips onto it and holds it close, "I… I _choose_ not to leave the Circle. My duty to the Maker remains strong. Don't you think that's selfish?"

"You keep saying that, but I'm finding it harder to believe," Maddox says. He raises his head and holds onto one of her knees, the only part of her he can reach, "I think you're afraid – I think you _know_ that something drives you away from your duty, that this relationship we have is painful, despite its highs. I don't think you want to face the consequences of attempting to leave."

"Even if I left the Order, there are still rules. I wouldn't be able to truly… be with you the way I want to be." She stops herself from mentioning any prospect of a future, "It would never be allowed, and hiding is not wrong. We will face serious consequences for this."

"But not here," Maddox says.

Phillipa touches his hand and has no idea what to say. Yes, the Fade has lesser consequences, though it is a dangerous place. The happier she finds her time here, the desire to leave lessens. She needs to remember her duty, or she will disappear. Abandoning her duty is dangerous.

"Sorry. I don't mean to get so…. never mind." Maddox sounds annoyed at himself, "I only want to know – in this world, the one where we are free, the _real_ one to me… as an ordinary person with a normal life, if I asked you marry me, would you?"

Phillipa's defenses rise immediately. "Would you really want to marry _me_ of all people? Fade or not, there aren't any mages you'd rather wed?"

Maddox shakes his head. The hazel iris's turn orange in the light. "It's… it doesn't have to mean anything if it upsets you."

Phillipa shakes her head. It isn't that she does not want it to be true. She wants it. If it could be real, that would be incredible. It is only not something that ever could. "Do you really want to ask it? Is that why you are theorizing? Are you only painting a picture for me, making my dreams brighter, but further away?" she didn't mean for tears to fill her eyes and her throat to feel so heavy, "Why is the answer so important?"

She lets the tears drip into the bowl beneath her, making the sand fall back into murky water.

Maddox looks very serious when she finds her strength to admire him. "I'm asking because I want you to marry me, I just didn't want to make you get confused given how messy it already is. Theorizing was safer."

Openness is safety. Phillipa puts her mug to one side and lunges over to hug Maddox, unable to stop herself sobbing. "I only wish we could stay here forever, that is why I'm upset, but I would never say no to that question! The Maker cannot hate us Maddox, we are kind people, and we do good work in the Circle." There is sadness, anger and elation all at once, "I want you to be my forever."

"You'd seriously marry me then?" the mage repeats, sounding almost shocked.

"Of course I will, you fool!" Phillipa shouts.

Maddox places his mug on the ground, somewhat awkwardly because the Templar has her arms around him. "You're right. I don't think He hates us." The mage reaches for a ring in his pocket and hands it to her, "I want you to be mine, Phillipa."

It is silver with a shard of blue crystal on it, like lyrium, a constant reminder. They belong in the Gallows. The Fade cannot change that. Still, she loves it. She wants to hope that the two worlds can coexist. She desires to make it so.

"I _am_ yours!" Phillipa protests, half thinking him silly for even suggesting she wasn't, "and I promise to be so long as I can. I declare yes to both your questions. I don't care which world is the real one anymore – I will be yours in both."

The mage gently places the ring on her finger, too overcome with emotion to speak. They breath in synchronicity like their lives depend on the timing.

This isn't how she imagined a proposal occurring, but she has no intention to change the memory or reject it. She is grateful she won't die without ever having this experience.

Without another moment of hesitation the two share kisses with more passion and desperation than any they had given so far. It becomes so reckless that the blonde slides down some of her soaked clothes and begs him to touch her.

After some hesitation, he complies, and Phillipa gains some understanding of the fire she'd mentioned while training him to fight demons.

* * *

They try to never stay in the Fade too long.

The two have difficulty adjusting to the solidness of the real world and the lack of swimming colors. The location is partially to blame. The couple had locked in a cupboard in a spare room. It is a cramped place and her muscles ache all over.

Silently they depart but her mind races at the thought of being wed. Maker be damned! It is wonderful, and yet, this truly wasn't how she imagined the process occurring.

She is engaged in some capacity, though how? It will invisible to others. They must be quiet about it. To everybody else, they are only passing letters.

Their relationship is so much more than transcribing, even if letters themselves are very romantic in theory. She wants more than letters.

The Circle is not openness. The Circle is two half Circles, broken fragments of a larger ideal. The epitome they pretend to live by.

 _What kind of life am I living?_ She thinks, sadly.

Phillipa knows, though she is too exhausted to formulate it clearly in her mind. She is living a double life. She walks two different paths, two half Circles that are not joined. Her heart beats differently depending on the time of night.

This is not what the Circle is supposed to be.

The ring that Maddox gave her feels like a punishment in this existence. She doesn't like this dream. It isn't where she wants to be.

It is painful to wish. It is hurtful to need.

There is no ring. It doesn't exist. She needs to return to her duty now.

She falls to sleep in her room feeling incredibly mixed up and confused, like everything is in the wrong place. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The training scene in the beginning wasn't there originally, but I'm so happy I added it in. This chapter was painful to write. I feel so bad for both of them.
> 
> The lyrics mentioned are from the Spanish artist Melody. The song is "In My Mind" and is mostly in English. Translations for the spanish parts are "*You are my love / I want to be with you forever.*" and "*Together you and I / destination ... is cast*. That last one sounds dodgy so I'm guessing its a fault of Google Translate. Here's a link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TBzPSi2umO0


	15. Chapter 15

Cullen and Phillipa march through the hall, unaccompanied by Zoe and Samson, searching for a spare room to speak in. It is easier at this hour. Given mages eat before Templars, the halls are clearer and rooms are quieter. No one wants to think about study beyond what is absolutely necessary.

No matter how brightly the halls are lit, it does not entirely remove the grey, like how grey cannot be lifted from her heavy heart. Like seeking phylacteries, they remain silent and determined.

This is like work. This is merely another task to complete.

The First Enchanter or Knight Commander do not cross them.

There is something too familiar about this. Where does she recognize the anxiety from?

It is like her memory with Samson.

The two men have similarities. They are kind and patient, though Cullen looks less stern his posture. He is not as nervous as she is. Perhaps because they share a history together. He peers at her uneasily as they find a room and close the door. "Is this sufficiently private for you, Phillipa? Is it the level of quiet you were hoping for?"

"It is," Phillipa says shortly, and she peers at the ground. She does not want to blubber like she did to Samson so many months ago. What to do?

She remembers Samson's advice.

One idea at a time. One word after the other.

"Cullen." She pauses, "I would like request your assistance, if it is not any trouble."

The man's sternness slowly fades. He steps closer to her, meeting her eyes fully. "Of … it is never any trouble, Phillipa." His voice softens, and he tries to stand a little straighter, "What… what can I do? What is on your mind?"

The woman does not speak. She reads Cullen's face without any doubt of its meaning. He knows what the problem is, though he is being polite regardless.

 _Maybe he wants specifics;_ she rationalizes, _Yes, letters, but what of them?_

She ponders on the Fade adventures, the demon fighting, the kisses and more, vibrant dreams and swirls that make her heart flutter. There is no benefit to sharing these details. Openness means destruction in the Gallows. She only needs to share enough to indicate how serious the situation has become. She tries to keep her answer as simple as possible, though when she says it, her voice is full of as much torment as if she has explained the whole story.

"I love him."

It doesn't even sound like her. It isn't the Phillipa from the Gallows or the one in the Fade, but a mixture of the two, a secret lodged deep enough within to decay.

The meaning is immediately registered, though the pause impales her like knives, penance for her misconduct.

Suddenly, Cullen appears stern and rule abiding. His eyebrows twist up and he gets that standoffish poise he sometimes does when retrieving apostates.

Phillipa expects him to yell at her. It is the face of somebody who would. Questions of 'How could you?' and 'Do you know how wrong that it?'. He knows that Maddox is the object of her affections. There is no indication of how long he has suspected it, but the emotion changes again.

Cullen's features morph into disbelief, shock, and trepidation. His eyes dart to the side before he mouths, 'the mage?!'

The words do not use air, there is no oxygen or prospects for life. They are as silent as her secret to the rest of the Gallows. In two words he does not have a voice. He knows they cannot speak too loud, even here.

Phillipa nods, and she is certain there is guilt on her face. Love, it is such a strong word, but no lesser term is suitable to describe how she feels. It is an all-encompassing, honest and kind love. The passion is there too, dominated by affection, though not absent.

It is almost like Cullen is trying to process twenty thoughts at once for the silence that extends between them. The wounds deepen as do the blades of self condemnation. The disapproval returns, and stays for a moment. His gaze is focused slightly beyond her, the color of his iris' cloudy like a storm. Then it disappears again and his head falls into his hands.

"You are so certain." There is loss in the voice, absolute defeat, the same she feels. "Maker preserve… bloody everybody. I will pretend…" he took a breath, "I will act as though you did not just tell me that, Phillipa."

She nearly gapes in surprise. What is there to gain by denying the existence of a situation? Cullen is supposed to help her.

In the time she is absorbing this odd reaction, the Templar steps even closer, remaining uneasy. "It is… it is _only_ letters, correct?" he checks.

 _No._ Phillipa internally responds, but there is nothing to win by acknowledging more. Secrets will get her far in the Gallows.

She nods, lying again, and guilt comes with it. She hates lying.

"I suppose… pieces of paper…" Cullen begins, but he falls silent, "Phillipa, how… no… is…"

As Phillipa watches her friend struggle, she wonders what secrets he is hiding. Somehow, his emotional struggle resembles hers. In the shadows spun by the room, Cullen appears weak. He never has before. Her concept of Cullen is a cheerful person, an occasionally irritated but otherwise level headed man. What is happening?

To her surprise, Cullen does not know either.

"What do you expect me to do?" his tone is as beaten as her heart, an eerie connection, " What can I do? Would you like to discuss it further? You are keeping unreasonably quiet, even considering the secrecy, um…"

It is clear that something about Phillipa's original reply is not what he expected. It is a fair question – what _could_ be done? What is the right course of action to take?

"I don't know." She admits. She only knows, if anyone can save her, she'd like them to do it against her will. "I wish I could have loved a Templar instead, or even a man outside the Circle. It would be easier."

"I won't disagree." Cullen says, though there is a distant darkness in his eyes. Why? "Are you after my honest opinion?"

"Certainly." Phillipa says.

The man looks like he is about to wrack his head, though stops when his palm is half way through the air. "I have worried constantly about this situation. I honestly thought – well, even if Samson is a bit cooperative beyond reason, I expected you possessed the self-resolve to pull away when the first signs of any sort of… feelings became present? You are far more focused than many others here. There are processes. You _know_ them…. I do not understand. How this happened, how..."

He almost sounds frustrated.

"He is not my charge," Phillipa says, firmly, "It is not like when you can request for your charge to be moved to somebody else. How could I have prevented it?"

"I don't know." Cullen shrugs, "Ignoring letters?"

"I _tried_ , Cullen." Phillipa does not expect to sound so angry. She feels exhausted. "I have been battling with myself the entire time about that."

Cullen looks equally drained, "Clearly… you did not have the self-awareness to see how your feelings would grow, and now you have a loyalty to him?"

Phillipa ponders this idea. It might be true. "I feel so strongly to him. I did not want to listen to sense. It wouldn't be _fair_ to listen to it!"

"Sweet Maker," Cullen rubs between his eyebrows, trying to take it all in. "I wish I knew what to do. It is a rather delicate situation. I… I wanted to tell on Samson. I almost convinced myself into doing so early on, though I decided – fine, they are just letters. You are a kind, resourceful person. You know what you are doing. You will know when to put an end to this… correspondence. Samson too, I was hoping he'd know when enough is enough. You never seemed to, though. But… I realize, there is something else."

Now Cullen is looking guilty too.

"What is it?" Phillipa inquires.

The man edges Phillipa closer to him by wrapping a palm around her shoulder, and he presses his face close so she can hear him whisper, "I… and do not tell _anybody_ this – I have not told a soul - I was rather fond of one of my charges at Kinloch Hold. She… I kept my distance but it was not easy. In fact, the experience was quite disheartening." He exhales with difficulty, "I might be wrong, but are you feeling sad? Grim that it is only letters… That it cannot be more?"

It is some sort of miracle. She is overcome with relief that Cullen understands. Yes, she wishes it could be more than letters. Besides her love, that is the next strongest truth.

Phillipa nods. Perhaps she can keep her secrets. The underlying feelings are still the same.

"I will keep your secret, Cullen." she promises.

"I am relieved." Cullen gives a small smile, "though there remains a question of what to do."

Phillipa wonders how many other Templars have experienced this sadness. Perhaps it is not so unusual. Absently, she remembers what Samson told her once, that Cullen and she would make suitable romantic partners. She wonders if this could be an option, given she is in a relationship with another person where the circumstances are not ideal. "We have similar values. Would you ever consider me as a romantic partner?"

Cullen blushes, " _That_ is your idea?"

"I have the same problem as I did before. I do not want to stop writing letters." Phillipa says, "The more I get to know him, I find more reasons to adore him. It only gets more difficult. Though if I could be with you…"

"I do not think of you as a romantic… uh,." Cullen blurts out, looking uncomfortable. "And I suspect you don't have feelings like that for me, either."

"I don't." Phillipa says, "But my heart is so weak. I do not know where to place it. Every surface shakes and is unstable. I only think it would be a quick solution."

Cullen looks to the floor for a moment, obviously thinking on how to best phrase his thoughts.

"Don't get me wrong. You are a dear friend, Phillipa, though I see you like my family, you are like a sister to me."

"You are like a brother to me."

"Then you understand." Cullen gave a shrewd chuckle, "You must truly like that mage to consider using me to circumvent your, uh, feelings." His voice becomes stronger, "I did not resist my feelings for Solana without reason. When I get in a relationship with somebody, I'd like to have it based on all what I can't have here, something more than posing to keep up appearances, regardless of how ridiculously difficult this situation has been for you."

It makes sense. She doesn't know why she expected more.

"Yes." Phillipa says sadly, "I'm sorry. I… thought speaking to you about it might promote some ideas."

"Yes, we must think of something." Cullen crosses his arms, pondering, "so long as you do not go beyond all this letter writing, I will not tell the Knight Commander. But you must tell me if you feel temptation or any of the sort. It will go downhill too quickly if you do not. I have no desire to upset you but the line must be drawn there. Understood?"

It is the same conditions Zoe gave her so long ago. She did not listen to her roommate either. What kind of person is she?

She likes the Fade better than here. She wants to preserve her ability to go there.

There is no means to remedy the situation. Somehow, she is too far in. There is no going back, no desire to return. 

She constructs her conversation with Samson again in her mind, the one where she was anxious. Was that the warning she had been looking for? 

Perhaps warnings are not as obvious as they should be sometimes. Both Samson and Philipa justified it away… but every attempt to stay away had failed since then. She rationalized it in the name of education, because the Templar watching over Maddox was not helping him.

Maybe it isn't entirely her fault. More could happen than just inform the First Enchanter of Maddox crossing of boundaries. The situation seems more complicated. Perhaps Maddox needed a new Templar guarding him. Could it have been her?

No.

Phillipa hugs Cullen before he can see her reaction, so he cannot see how detrimental her sadness really is. "I understand." She hesitates, though she knows she is lying again, withdrawing information. She still wants to be wed to Maddox, even if it is in the Fade. It is so foolish, though she wants it anyway. After all, she does not agree that their relationship is wrong. She does not believe love is wrong. The Maker doesn't want anybody to be alone. Would the fact Phillipa is helping Maddox to fight demons count for something?

She does not know Meredith well enough to say. She could use the information for or against her. The Fade isn't allowed.

"Do you think Meredith would understand?"

Perhaps confessing can wait until Maddox has finished his Harrowing. Could she simply say she wishes to have a relationship with Maddox and requires information on her options, to indicate she has kept a distance?

Even if she does, it changes nothing. Phillipa wants to believe she can keep her secret. Now that Cullen knows how she feels about Maddox, perhaps his company would lessen her heartache.

Is there truly a chance the Knight Commander can be swayed to lessen the punishment?

Perhaps there is a way she can find out.

"I have not seen her behave in an adversary manner toward anyone," Cullen admits, "though it would no doubt concern her. Perhaps… yes, I can discuss it with her beforehand to frame the situation in a more sensitive light."

She smiles, though she is still not sure if this would help anything. To her, it is best to do this once Maddox has successfully completed his Harrowing.

"I will consider it." she finishes, wanting to change the subject.

She recalls that Cullen has not told anyone but her about this Solana mage.

"Yourself and Samson do not speak of girls?"

The man let go of her with a brief pat. He chuckles, "It is not a topic of conversation that goes far, I assure you. On his insistence I mentioned I was fond for a girl in Kinloch Hold, but that was the extent of the detail."

"Does he talk of Zoe?"

"Maker's breath," Cullen snorts, "he does not need to speak to me about her."

There is something about the topic that greatly amuses Cullen. Phillipa wants to repay Samson for his help if she can, and she is the only person between him and Zoe.

"How do you know if he does not talk about it?"

The Fereldan gives a half laugh, "You're serious?" then it turns into a full chuckle, "Ah, you are. Very well. I have never seen flirtations so completely obvious. Even those within a five meter radius can see it, those who do not have an inkling of understanding of who we are." he rearranges how he is standing, pensive, "Though considering how unwarm Zoe has been, I do not understand why she does not tell him off. Many girls would have by now. He is not intimidating. The one time I tried to bring up the topic he started terrorizing me for information on… I hardly know anymore. My own romantic intrigues. I assure you, there are none."

Phillipa finds Cullen's attitude bewildering. Her friend guesses what she wants to say and adds, "He became a little non responsive, if I had to describe it."

There is clearly something Samson finds difficult about communicating, "Don't you want to help him?"

"No." he says immediately, though seeing Phillipa's expression elaborates, "I am incredibly jealous of that man." His eyes darken, "To think, he has the luxury to have eyes for Templar, one that we interact with every single day. And he cannot simply pull her aside and ask if she feels the same." Cullen crosses his arms, annoyed, "If I were him, I'd have done so already. He has no idea how much better he has it above people like you and Maddox. Just to be able to talk to each other, or be in such close proximity…" he looks dreamy eyed, "though he still struggles with even that, give or take a handful of brighter moments. If he wants to miss his chance, that is no business of mine. I think it might help him be less of an idiot about it in future."

Phillipa is astounded by the reaction. Cullen's jealousy is driving him to let Samson self-sabotage his efforts with her roommate. "Did you ever pull Solana aside and tell her how you feel?"

"No." Cullen said, "But don't you start with that comparison. You know how it is different, how unacceptable that is."

"And you didn't lie to Samson? There are no Templars you have eyes for?"

Cullen shrugs. "None I like enough for a relationship. My duty comes first, as it should for everyone."

"Then how can you be so certain you would not be like Samson?" Phillipa inquires.

Cullen pauses and appears thoughtful. "It achieves little to discuss it."

The woman begins to think Cullen might be a hypocrite, though she does not want to criticize her friend since he has tried to be supportive.

"I will go," Phillipa says, "Thank you. Perhaps this won't help Samson, though I think he might like to hear about Solana."

Cullen peers at Phillipa bewildered. "If he seems interested, I'll tell him."

* * *

It is the next day when Phillipa lies again. She requests previous records on Templars who have been dismissed from the Gallows, so she can get an idea of how Meredith classifies misconduct.

Meredith moves some papers away on her desk and observes Phillipa curiously, "That is an unexpected request of a mage," she remarks, "a charge, no less. What justification did Ronette provide?"

There is no coincidence it sounds odd. Phillipa replies with a rehearsed sentence, "She is convinced that Templars cause more trouble than they appear, or are not punished correctly when they should have," she said, "I believe in your judgement, Meredith, so I would like to prove my charge wrong."

This is not entirely false. She respects the Knight Commander.

Meredith smiles. "It is a common attitude in the Gallows. I fail to understand it, though…. Perhaps you may assist with uncovering the mystery," She raises from her seat to a cabinet and rummages inside, "I am not permitted to release any identifiable information, though I can explain roughly."

"That is reasonable." Phillipa says, her heartbeat intensifying, "Share with me what you find appropriate."

Meredith picks out some papers and flicks through them. "There have been three dismissals in the past decade, ones that I permitted."

 _Is that a lot?_ Phillipa does not know whether to be surprised or not.

The Knight Commander continues in a diplomatic, uncaring tone, "A man in year 23… dismissed for failure to strike down a charge when possessed at their Harrowing. It put a lot of others in the Circle at risk."

"That is fair." Phillipa acknowledges, and she means what she says. Not ending a mage when possessed is one of the closest definitions of failing as a Templar.

Meredith moves to the next sheet, "A woman in year 24. She was dismissed for multiple accounts of self-mutilation and posing a risk to herself and those around her."

"How terrible." Phillipa responds, trying to ignore the sweat gathering in her palms.

"It is far more intolerable to witness the utter failure a person becomes when they can no longer identify the damage their behaviours cause," Meredith explains, her eyes flashing darkly from over the paper.

"Yes, it is a shame," Phillipa admits, though unsure of how she feels about a woman being dismissed for this reason. It made sense, though was there a better way to manage it?

"The last was a man, year 9:27. He had been giving a charge the lyrium from his philtre... an utter imbecile," Meredith adds angrily, "it made them both incredibly ill. The mage declares it was forced. I do not know. I do not care for justifications, though I am pleased it is no longer a concern."

"I can understand the reasoning," Phillipa says. Though… this are only accounts from her, "What about the previous ten years? The variety of misconducts is interesting."

Meredith sighs, and summarizes the dismissed Templars of the previous decade quicker. "11, a woman who physically assaulted a number of mages… 14, a man who was trailing three Templars and mages and refused to desist when requested, a young lady who did not strike down a possessed mage… 19, a woman who entered a romantic relationship with her charge, also female."

That last one… it is the closest to her situation. She wants to ask the person's name, but she also knows it would both look suspicious and it would not be shared anyway. How many Templars are there like her, Cullen and Samson? The ones who enter relationships, the ones who want to start them, and the ones who assist in their maintenance.

"What do you think of the case with the relationship, Knight Commander?" Phillipa tries to sound casual.

"It is a betrayal of the Order's goal, to protect and watch mages. One who is enamoured cannot see clearly, so they can no longer be considered fit to guard them, irrespective of excuses," Meredith explains shortly, "While it is not I who dismissed that woman, I would not falter to dismiss any person I discovered doing the same."

"That is reasonable, Knight Commander," Phillipa says, though on the inside she kneels over in defeat. There is not much else she can do for now. She does not want to leave the Circle, but neither does she want to leave Maddox. "I think I have plenty of reasons to tell Ronette she was misjudging your ability."

"Thank you." Meredith briskly places the papers back in the draw, taking care to file them in the correct order that they had come, "Again, I ask you do not share this information. Somebody may know the ones whom I speak of."

"I won't tell anyone, Knight Commander." Phillipa promises as she leaves her office.

She keeps her promise.

* * *

She does not know the time that passes between the conversation with Meredith and her next letter.

Dear Angel,

I read the book you recommended. I can see why you like it. I've got to admit it was more interesting than I thought by looking at the cover. Not sure I'd pick it up again though.

Chandler is being difficult, the same as ever. Instead of playing pranks on him, I've tried to discuss opinions diplomatically. I don't think he knows how to formulate a well thought out opinion? How are your friends?

Where do you think we ought to hide next… and when? How are you finding the Gallows after last time?

I might spontaneously drop dead again from worrying about it too much.

Keep being a smart cookie!

Bookshelf Destroyer

She replies in her room after a floor guarding duty.

Bookshelf Destroyer,

I'm impressed you finished the book so quickly. You really must have liked it! You are gentler than others realize, Maddox.

Chandler will understand if you are diplomatic for long enough. He is probably surprised you have a side to you which isn't anarchy.

I do not understand how I feel after what occurred last time, though I will let you know when the answers arrive. Perhaps I will pray for guidance.

Phillipa hides the draft of her letter away and decides not to send it until she has figured it out. What Cullen told her echoes in her head repeatedly even as she forces herself to concentrate on a novel.

_My duty comes first, as it should everyone_

Her duty _does_ come first, but isn't there room for anything to come second... someone more important to her than her brother and sister Templars, than her father, than the Chant?

The tears start flowing when Zoe returns to the room. She lets her book fall to the ground.

"Sister?" Zoe's senses are alert. She gets up from her bed and reaches her side, "What's wrong?"

Knowing she cannot explain, the room a blur, Phillipa chokes out, "I lost my page!"

_I've lost my mind._

"I don't know where I was!"

_I don't know how I could have prevented it._

"What am I going to do, Zoe?"

_Save me from this mess, sister._

She buries her tear stained face in her pillow and Zoe picks up the book from the floor, "Oh, are you about to start your cycle?"

"Yes, yes," Phillipa mumbles, which is probably only a half lie, "I'm sorry. It is so silly."

"Remember I cried once because the kitchens didn't have the cake I wanted?" Zoe humours her, "Compared to that, a book is actually a _good_ reason to get upset."

The blonde hears the book being placed by her ear and Zoe rests her fingers on Phillipa's back. "That's all that started this?"

Philipa tries to say 'yes' but it only comes out as the muffled sobs in her pillow, completely incomprehensible to anyone else. She nods. "I will be fine."

She falls asleep feeling sad, but it disappears when she dreams of Maddox, and he introduces himself as 'Bookshelf Destroyer'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first two scenes in this chapter are new additions! I'm glad I added them in though. I hope you enjoyed it. Please rate and review.


	16. Chapter 16

Chairs are adorned with lavender roses, the air serenaded by the gentle strum of a bronze harp, the unexpected patter of drizzling rain whispers from the gardens outside, surrounded from all sides by the dearest of company.

It is early spring, and Honnleath's antiquated Chantry is ornamented to epitomize the theme of new beginnings.

Phillipa is seated demurely in the center.

Zoe is to her left in a lilac robe, giggling that she feels pretty but out-of-place, "I told you. This isn't my colour."

She imagines how Cullen agrees, ever so addled, even if he isn't wearing the same shade. "Why by Andraste's sword did you select purple?"

It is a challenge to decipher if Samson or Cullen is more unsettled, seated side by side in the row behind.

"You have more of a feminine streak than me." Samson reminds Cullen, crossing his arms, "Shut your whinging. Phillipa can choose whatever color, and you have to wear it."

Cullen brings a hand to the back of his neck, abashed. "I don't think it is an _inappropriate_ color, though…" his brown eyes meet hers, "I always thought you'd be more of a pink person."

The rest of the Chantry is a blur except for the conjured petals and the few features she remembers.

 _I concur!_ Phillipa thinks this is how she would respond, _I dislike purple! I so desired to experiment with the decorations._

Her friends are joking about her engagement with no concern for being overheard. She finds herself in love with the picture, even if it is only an image. The woman is not in the Fade, nor is she asleep, though she safely explores the possibilities in her mind.

The groom is not to see the bride before the ceremony, though he is neither present.

She is not in a wedding gown. She does not know how she is dressed. All is accepted, for this is not _her_ ceremony.

* * *

Phillipa blinks as steam from a dish creates droplets on her eyelashes and her eyes sting. It is her day off, and she has spent the afternoon at her father's house. It is close to farewells.

Every few weeks she visits her father, for their schedules often misalign. Her free time is more often spent at the Chantry, exploring Kirkwall with Zoe or visiting Zoe's family for meals.

She sips pumpkin stew from the spoon, putting together the pieces of her father's wedding, the location, the flowers and the melodies. He is sorting mail while steam fogs his heavy glasses. The small table is otherwise spotless.

"Does your wedding make you sad, father?" Phillipa asks, "Since mother is no longer at your side."

The man's attention and voice are busy reading.

" _Please prepare your presentation for the University of Orlais by next Cloudreach._ Too soon. Look, Professor Kenric will be speaking. Perhaps I can share accommodation…" her father mutters to himself, "Sorry, Phillipa. Wedding…" the reaction is delayed, "Gracious daughter, of course it makes me glum sometimes, but the feeling is not as acute as it was. I remember your mother was already pregnant with you, though not enough for it to be noticeable. That makes it much less miserable."

The man's hair is starting to grey and his skin wrinkles in more places. He admires his daughter, leaving the mail alone. For once Phillipa does not return the smile.

 _Less sad?_ she tries to figure it out _, perhaps it is not entirely dreadful if matters with Maddox go wrong, surely not._

"Are you not lonely?" she probes.

"Sometimes." Esmond admits, and he picks up his spoon to start dinner, "but I am grateful your mother and I are still amicable and well-balanced, though it was not the case some years ago. Why are you so curious?"

Phillipa waits for her father to eat more stew before answering. Like with Cullen, she knows sharing the full truth would be disastrous. "I worry I am going to be alone for the rest of my life. Being a Templar is… Meredith remains strict with free time so there aren't many chances to meet new people."

Esmond laughs, "Academia is much the same. Though I have not given up hope yet, so neither should you!"

Phillipa tries to smile, but she does not know how to interpret this advice. She wishes for hope, and she clutches to it like the loosening strings to keep a curtain covering a window. Sometimes she wonders – does she wish for faith for her happiness, to find someone else, for her relationship to succeed, or for her engagement?

She questions if she is allowed to desire all of these.

* * *

A zap of elation, terror and excitement whooshes through her. An ice spell fizzles toward her, though not quick enough. Phillipa deflects the spell before it strikes her heart.

They are in the Fade, the same place in the library with the leather chair. The Templar decides she needs to get her mind away from the mental chatter. Thankfully, focusing on teaching Maddox achieves this very well.

He lowers his hands, a look of intense concentration on his face.

"Demon is no more?"

Phillipa nods, unable to stop the relief in her chest. His spells are covering a larger radius. It is minor improvement, but a step closer to becoming an Enchanter. As she lowers her arms to her side, she notices the engagement ring on her finger. A crystal of what looks like lyrium on it, a reminder of her duty.

Cullen is right, though not for how she is unfocused. She is sad and wants more than what the Gallows can provide.

"I am very impressed." She says with a curt nod, "Do you think we can try one more time?"

She has no wish to go on a date in this meeting. Too much opportunity for conversation could lead to topics she is not interested in reflecting on.

Maddox takes a deep breath, "Sure, just don't make it too hard."

He is tired, but it means little. Practice is practice. She hesitates. How can she make the task more difficult, though not much? She remembers their demon encounter gone wrong.

Phillipa brings one finger to her lips. Quiet, it urges him. She has chosen the next level.

Maddox stops himself from nodding by the odd tilt of his neck, even here, not giving in, preparing to be robust.

The Templar runs her palms from her shoulders, over her chest and grips the edges of the silk gown. It is short, only reaching midway down her thighs. She is not afraid, hardly resistant. Perhaps she is feeling too representative of a demon tonight.

Her feelings aside, Maddox needs to pass his Harrowing.

_Destroy me._

She hopes her eyes can speak what she can't. That despite how important practicing is, there is an ever present craving to experience benevolence. Maddox averts his gaze temporarily. His posture is uneven in the chair, like he is seasick.

Perhaps she wants him too much.

_Love me._

Maybe he wants her too much as well.

What would a demon do?

Phillipa lifts the fabric over her head and doesn't feel cold. As per her desires, there is nothing underneath. Her palms are all she has to cover herself, and she does not entirely use them. One only partially conceals what is below, the fingertips of one trailing back up her belly, her sternum to her mouth.

There is no harshness to shadows in the Fade, only streaks that make outlines invisible. Her skin, usually ghostly white, is ethereal in consistency, tinged the tone of antiqued parchment from the lanterns, like sneak reading the pages of a book by candlelight.

Perhaps she needs to focus on responsibility.

_Destroy me._

Slightly flushed in the face, she becomes aware of her yearnings, the heated metals that are pliable enough to forge into weaponry, the keenness veiled from her stilled palm. Her love is an armament, though whose throat was it birthed to split?

Convicted in her stance, her feet unshaking, her torso immobile, she understands empowerment. She can impart restraint while beguiling him. The two spirits blend.

She blows Maddox a silent kiss, her lips envious to captivate. Maybe, it is working. His face goes pink, indistinct like a newly motley paint. _Look away_ , he must be thinking, as he crosses one leg over the other and hunches forward, hiding the extent of his want for her.

The young woman swaps the palm covering her, unsure. Is she truly pretending to be a demon anymore or is she revelling in her own sensualism?

Phillipa understands that she cannot give him too many chances, though she also feels like he is sending an electricity spell toward her again. What does he think of her body? She knows how her muscles and wide shoulders lack refinement, and sometimes she thinks her breasts are unflattering. She hopes he likes all of her. 

The Templar gives a sly wave, remembering the line from the Chant that realigns her focus.

There is a gush like the room being swept by an unexpected storm.

Maddox deflects the paralysing spell before it can hit him and, dazed, aims a spell at her feet. In the rush to block it she moves the hand guarding her naked form. It happens so fast it is like hand to hand combat. Mages and Templars are not so different.

She realizes as the swiftness of magic leaves her ears that she is exposed, her womanhood unshaven and in some eyes, unclean. As though an assassin, she crouches down and searches the floor for her gown. She is curious if Maddox made her block in a certain way to see her body on purpose. She is not curious enough to ask, nor is she bothered enough to mind.

"I think you need more practice." She informs, grasping the silky white fabric and throwing it over her head, "my forever."

This is not right. She still has not replied to the question of how she feels about their last time in the Fade, though Maddox knows not to ask.

The gown is inside out, evidence of her haste, the ever present need to stay hidden. The veneer is easily overlooked for she senses how her nipples poke against the threads, still on offer as far as her body is concerned. Even as her muscly thighs remain bare, she feels how they slip near their apex. There is fluid there, a sheen from her temptation overflowing. It has never presented itself so obviously.

Here, it is like the Gallows isn't real. In the Fade their roles don't matter. Truth is important above all else.

Phillipa's fear, paradoxically, diminishes.

Templars and mages, anyone at all, can unravel themselves here, if they are careful of where they stand.

She is immensely careful, and a flicker of her life in the Gallows returns.

"I apologize, but I must be honest with you." She says, her voice an echo surrounding them. "I am having a lot doubts about a wedding."

Maddox appears worn out, though his eyes dart from her face to her chest. "I told you it doesn't have to mean anything if it makes it worse."

Phillipa does not hesitate in her response. "It is not because I despise the idea – I adore it." her footsteps make no sound as she glides to that crimson chair. Her legs slide together at the top as they press together, "Whenever I imagine a ceremony, it is, undeniably, traditional. In the Kirkwall Chantry, surrounded by friends and family – father, mother, Zoe, Mia, Cullen... I'd probably invite my charges and Samson, even. I want them to all be there. I want them to know who I have chosen to be my husband."

"I'm not surprised, though I like impracticality." Maddox says with a shrewd half-smile, "I want it to be somewhere in nature, where nobody can find us. It doesn't matter much who is there. Then after we can visit a castle."

"We disagree, though that is not entirely problematic." She stops in front of the chair and sees how the mage's regard is on her mouth, "My ideal wedding is something which cannot occur, and I find that deeply upsetting. I understand that real life often does not match fantasy, but there is little that matches." Her voice rings with frustration, "Even if the Fade made imitations of all these people, they'd be demons. It wouldn't be them. Not truly. When we return from the Fade, nobody will know what has happened. To me, that isn't what marriage is supposed to be about. It is about acceptance and celebration of the couple. That will never happen. Between us, yes, but not with anybody else… not with the Chantry, not with Kirkwall… does that bother you?"

Maddox gently grasps her wrist with two of his fingers. "Only because I can't make you smile, even here."

Phillipa feels her hands quiver at the tone. He sounds so self-defeated.

"I want to believe it. I want to believe there's a Maker and he doesn't want us to be alone, but I don't know." Maddox presses the ring between two fingers, as though trying to see if he can break it. "You like the idea of marriage, but I don't think you like the idea of the _ceremony_ itself, not the way things are."

Phillipa moves his fingers off the ring, feeling somewhat protective of it. "It is not because of you. We are not hiding from each other anymore, and that is a relief. It has given me so much joy, sadness too, but we are still hiding from everybody else. None of my friends understand what has been happening between us since we kissed in the hidden room. There is too much risk of somebody finding out if they knew."

She pauses for a time, pondering on her reveries of her ideal wedding – discussing ideas with Zoe, her brothers and her father, trying on dresses with Zoe, picking out a cake and deciding on flowers with Maddox in _public_. They are only dreams, but they make her happy. It is so bizarre that experiences are so simple to Marchers are not simple to her, all because the boy she chooses wields magic. Lately, it seems so ridiculous it is like scorning a person for wearing an out of fashioned scarf, something inconsequential and petty.

"When I considered the consequences for our actions, I thought only of the disaster that would occur if we were found out." Phillipa says, remembering the harsh words of Meredith and the consequences that had befallen another Templar Mage couple in the Circle a decade ago. "I am grasping now those are not the only costs. The penalties for keeping it a secret from my friends and family, people who are so dearly important to me, is also weighing on me."

Maddox tugs at her gown, asking her to come closer. "You have wonderful friends. I have a few, but they're not close to me. My closest ones have already completed their Harrowing. Some aren't even in the Gallows anymore. I suppose isolation doesn't feel so new to me. I feel it too, but I cope with it in a different way."

The young woman is disappointed that this fact does not surprise her.

"I have never known isolation before, and I dislike it." she thinks maybe this is why she could not foresee these consequences.

Maddox's grip goes limp on her gown and Phillipa allows herself to come closer. She sits down in his lap, not caring for her bare womanhood pressing into his legs. It does not feel slanderous though comforting, even as her need soddens his robes. She rests her arms around his shoulders, "It is like every time I see you, my feelings fragment into more pieces, intense emotions of opposing intent. I sense the truth in the Maker's words, that we are not supposed to be alone, but then why do we have to feel alone anyway?"

Maddox runs a finger down the stitching of the inside out gown, "We don't have to be married to love each other." He paused, "I have another suggestion – would you like to skip the ceremony entirely? That way you can leave it to your imagination. If the ways of the Circle change we can finalize it…. I know it's slim, but marriage is forever, right? Surely within forever the Circle will change? We can post pone it, that's all. Maybe that wrecks everything for you…"

Phillipa sighs. This isn't a terrible idea, though her doubts remain, "Recently, the only times I don't feel isolated is in the Fade with you. It is becoming more difficult to concentrate on my duty. I should take heed of this warning. It is one of the Fade's dangers. I wonder what will happen once the wedding is over. If I feel like an abnormality now, how much worse will it become?"

Maddox's hazel eyes meet hers. "Try to imagine it. What does your faith say?"

Phillipa remembers the day she visited the Chantry and the discussion with the Grand Cleric. The choice depends on the consequences. If Maddox became her true forever, what would happen? In each scenario, she considers how her two halves would feel, the one in the Fade and the one in the Gallows.

"It is almost like I have no choice." Phillipa realizes, "There's isolation, or more isolation, sadness or more sadness…. joy, or no joy at all. I'm sorry. I am angry at myself for not anticipating the emotions I would feel."

Maddox kisses her face and she feels his breath as he says, "I've heard rumours of couples who have kept it a secret, the only trouble is they only last short term. One night stands rarely get caught. I hope the only reason the long term relationships are unheard of is because they're still hiding."

"I hope so too," Phillipa agrees.

Maddox hugs her and she can no longer see his face, "I don't want you to be sad. I'm sorry about all of this. You're right about what you said at the start. None of this would have happened to you if it wasn't for me."

Phillipa wants to deny his claims, though she is too nonplussed by the conflict in his voice, unlike anything she has heard before.

"More than anything, I love you." He continues, as though this should make it better, but he didn't believe it would, "If I could make my choices anew, I'd try my best to forget about you so you never have to suffer. I want you to have freedom – and you could have found it if you fell in love with a Templar or even someone outside the Circle, just not someone like me. I am so…. so…. so…. sorry."

Phillipa holds him as tight as she can and kisses his neck. "Please… there's nothing to gain by scolding yourself. I do not regret my choices. It has been a remarkable adventure."

She needs to share what she has concluded. The reality with the small ounce of happiness is the one with him as her forever, "I want what little joy I can find, and I want to share it with you."

She remembers the mysterious couple that Knight Commander Guylain caught and pushes Maddox back so he can look at her. "I am still yours. I want to get married. Yes, the Maker will witness our wedding as he has seen all of our encounters."

 _But it is not enough to be alongside Him,_ she reminds herself, _I want my friends and family too, but it can wait._

Maddox is no fool. He shakes his head. "Think about my idea to postpone the ceremony. Agree to it in a letter too, back in the Gallows. It doesn't have to say much – I only want you to be sure."

"Curses." Phillipa mutters. She knows the Gallows is far more complicated than here, "I… I tire of thinking about it, but I will do so for you."

Tears fill her eyes. It feels like it is time for them to say goodbye, but she doesn't want to yet. She realizes her playing pretend of a demon is becoming more natural… and less of an illusion.

_Destroy me._

The need for obliteration is the same as her lust. One cannot exist without the other.

She picks up one of his hands. The demon shall be permitted to roam, opening her to death. She delicately places his palm on one of her thighs and slithers it up to where his fingers gaffe against the want that remains.

Maddox pulls against her, saying wait. "What are you doing?"

"Please don't leave yet." her mumble is throaty, "It is so cruel. I think I am a demon. It is so difficult to stay away."

Maddox's resistance falters, "Don't you remember? You only have to worry about those if I am possessed by one."

She stops moving his hand, overwhelmed with equal measures of eagerness and self-criticism, "Are you possessed?"

"Maybe." Maddox admits. His grin returns and his lips meet hers, "You have taken over my mind."

It is an arduous moment as she encourages him to explore her. Her legs widen just enough. She repositioning her hips so her knees bend and her toes drape over the arms of that crimson chair. The Fade is dimmer, the colors murkier, though she feels brighter. She hopes he does too.

She hums in delight, which twists into a whimper of avidity. Her heart races and her breathing deepens as he feels her, though she hopes he can't see it. Her nails get a film of slickness from guiding his fingers in the most receptive of places, though she suspects it is nothing compared to the mage's hand. Involuntarily, she tilts her hips toward him and her muscles soften.

"I k-know."

Her voice trembles like her heart as she stops pushing on his wrist and he does exactly what she needs him to.

* * *

The Gallows, she is surprised to find, feels slightly less threatening upon her return. Her doubts are known to him. There is a plan. The isolation remains, but she stands within it without struggle. The ropes binding her do not burn with the friction and protest.

Phillipa realizes she does not care much for what day it is anymore. When she talks to Zoe about charges, her roommate's brothers and her family, she considers what colour looks best on her most treasured sister. Possibly green, like her eyes, or silver…

Cullen, from her memories of Honnleath, fared better in duller shades of grey, whites or browns, like their days on his farm.

Samson… she wonders if black or bolder tones are suitable. Even if they will not be there, it is pleasanter to linger in fantasy instead of read while her charges practice magic.

As she prays in the Chantry, and finds only reasons to agree to Maddox and hers plan, she considers what flowers would be complement the rugs or the statues.

When she ventures to recruit little mages for the Circle, she feels guilty. Hopefully they don't have a childhood like Maddox's. She prays to the maker that they will not befriend or adore the ones that they cannot have. 

Upon return she takes a detour to window shop for bridal dresses. She annoys herself that she is unable to make up her mind about which one is prettiest.

The couple's next encounter in the Fade happens when a dream turns lucid. She shares ideas with him, and they scout for locations. All that remains to find is music.

* * *

It is an afternoon, though which afternoon is a mystery, when Phillipa finishes sketching some flowers to frame her parchment in her quarters, pretending it is an invitation. She writes with the curviest script, drawing inspiration from all the stories she finds a likeness to her situation.

Bookshelf Destroyer,

I hope you are doing fine on this fine day!

I have decided to accept your proposal. Yes, let us be forever, and there can be lots of flowers like the ones I have drawn. Please elope with me, far away from here. The rest will wait diligently until we have the coin and our parent's approval! Curses, the luck we have! Curses that they cannot see what I see in you!

Be well and stay well -

Angel

She does not know how to stop smirking as she places the page into an envelope, though she is grateful she chose to do this while Zoe is not around.

When she approaches Samson in the evening, she smiles from the relief that her worries will be understood. She giggles at the thought he doesn't know what the letter says.

Samson grins at her. Clearly, Phillipa's happiness is contagious, or simply very amusing. "You're happy."

She covers her mouth with her arm to try stop, "How can I not? It is such a fine, fine day."

Phillipa continues to chuckle as she passes him the note, reminded of the novels she has read. Maybe Maddox will like her little joke too.

"Have you _been_ outside today?" Samson demands, stuffing the envelope beneath his armour, "It's blowing a gale."

The young woman shakes her head. She can't tell Samson, though she wonders how he would react if she did. Perhaps with confusion, or with a joke, these are equally likely possibilities.

Briefly, as she bids him goodnight, Phillipa wonders if she should say something.

She doesn't.

* * *

Maddox's letter marks a date and a meeting place. She feels giddy with anticipation, like the night before her birthdate, even if the 'not ceremony' is still a week or so away. Since she is not known for melancholy, no one thinks there is anything different about her life.

Phillipa dines contently in The Broken Spine on a day off in Zoe's family tavern. She picks up a large flake of pie crust with her fingers, enjoying it even as it fractures and tumbles back into the filling. They are in their usual seats at a small table near the bar.

"Jed wants to exercise more," Zoe remarks, referring to one of her brothers, "getting self-conscious about his weight. I don't think it's that bad – he's just bulky from lifting heavy crates and barrels. He reckons I should go hiking with him when I next have free time. What do you think?"

"That sounds lovely. I'd be happy to join you." Phillipa says, finding it effortless to smile.

Her ears attune to the musicians from the other end of the room. Zoe's tavern, like most, rotates between a few regular ones that have a strong rapport with the business owners. From the board, tonight's is Kasey and she specializes with the psaltery. Its sounds are like a harp, nonetheless bristlier, but the tenor complements her voice.

_Thy smock of silk, both fair and white,_

_With gold embroidered gorgeously;_

_Thy petticoat of sendal right,_

_And these I bought thee gladly._

Enraptured by the melody, she peers at the board once more. Yes, Kasey is the name of the bard, though she gazes on what is scribbled at the very top.

Phillipa takes note of the date.

* * *

 _Authors Notes:_ When I think I'm almost done, I find more scenes to include! I hope it's not a bother that I have such a love for music. The mentioned lyrics is from an English folk song called "Greensleeves". I love the cover by Scheherazad Eify. The cover is here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sp3e-e_Gi9M

A million thanks to Winter Wren for her reviews of my story. Please check out her Iron Bull/Avaar fic, "A Letter Home". It has some wonderful OCs in it!


	17. Chapter 17

Phillipa venerates the melange of light pink and blue of the sky. It is identical to the view overlooking the true Chantry in Kirkwall. It contains the same row of narrow trees close to a building on the other side. It is so broad it is more like a wall, she notices, to discourage the unwelcome, though the trees are not quite the same distance apart. The spiked black lampposts look like weapons to threaten the unworthy. The beams of sunlight lightly brush the downward arrow branches, beautiful none the less, though she ponders if she is unwelcome, for Maddox would be.

Arrows would strike him far before he'd reached the Chantry, or by the burst of silver light. He'd only see it by the blade of the Templar who caught him… or in the Fade with her right now.

"Angel?" he murmurs.

Phillipa glances to her right. Maddox has his hands on the granite balcony railing. The gold ring glows like the courtyard's majestic statues, his knuckles their usual colour, paler than hers, etiolated. The groom rarely sees the sunlight. He is a ghost the chapel and citizens don't see him for his smile or his theatrics…. Except in the Fade with her right now…

From behind them comes the strumming of a psaltery. Phillipa turns around to see the joyous face of Kasey, the performer from The Broken Spine in a velvet red gown. From this close she is beautiful. Her grin is glowing, her eyes warm and her hair probably brushed for hours….

"You did exquisitely, lovelies." She assures them, slowing the tempo of the piece, "Now leave me to pack up, no stress, and you can begin your new life together. I have a tear in my eye thinking about it. I never found a man myself."

 _And I suspect you are not who you claim to be,_ Phillipa considers saying, though the situation is clearer.

A Templar and a mage have done the unthinkable. They are a bride and groom, joined without acknowledgement or acceptance. She nods, unable to find words and regards the surrounds. This is the Kirkwall Chantry to every minute precision of detail, like the red flag with a white sun, though there are no people around except themselves. It is completely deserted.

"Thank you! You're so lovely," Maddox says.

He appears as bewildered as she, his eyes wide with surprise, dressed in his usual long sleeved white shirt, a black waist jacket, bronze tie, black trousers and polished shoes.

Phillipa appreciates the kindness. She really, really does. She wants to pretend this is a wedding in the waking world and that she _can_ have a new life now, but believing and doing so is a danger.

But she is not without options. There is something else she can do and she prays it does not slant the Maker's plan. She speaks openly with the belief that she is supposed to know happiness here.

"You are kind and your music is delightful," Phillipa enunciates tactfully, "though while we are here today, I appreciate honesty, even now the ceremony is over. _Especially_ so." Kasey's expression falters, as the Templar's voice becomes stronger. "I request your real name, demon, and if you do not provide it, I will demand it in the name of the Maker's love. And if you still do not answer me in His name, for shaming the Maker, I will kill you in front of His sanctuary. Ruin this experience in any way, and you bleed and meet your end _inside_ it."

The music plays between long lulls of silence, and Phillipa jumps as she feels something tickle her hair. A demon? 

No. It is her forever.

"My wife doesn't intend to sound so angry." Maddox's voice is baritone and soothing. The bride notices that he has petals of black, red and gold between his fingers, perhaps orchids or blossoms. "But she's serious." He stares up at the demon like looking down at her. "We don't want our time here to be destroyed. We will strike you down if you do _anything_ wrong."

Either impressed, mortified or too stunned by her, Maddox allows the soft petals to fall to the ground, the last remaining evidence of the flower girl's frivolity, maybe Zoe and Mia.

That is what Phillipa wants to believe will happen one day.

She smiles sweetly, tears in her eyes, as if Maddox has muttered 'I do.' He is strong, she knew this the moment she saw him. It can't be long until he has his Harrowing, and she knows he will pass. Then, they can ask Cullen to talk to Meredith and perhaps… their love can become consecrated in both worlds, the dream can bleed into the real world and stitch her shattered identity. That is what she wants to believe with more certainty.

Kasey smiles again, though her eyes glow purple for the briefest moment. "Ophelia." she forgets to strum the instrument in her hands and her words thicken like dough, "and there is no need for worrying. Many of my kind become lazy as most dreamers are unaware and easy to sway, so full of unhappiness. The two of you are cleverer. My only intention is to help you enjoy yourselves. I know it is useless to try win. Who doesn't want to see a wedding?"

"The cleaning of one," Maddox reminds the demon, who smiles.

"Of course."

Phillipa doesn't want to think. She doesn't want to fight. This is the aftermath of her wedding, and despite incompletion, she wants to fill it with happiness. So the Templar decides she will try forgetting about the demon near her. She is going to enjoy this like it is in the real world, like they'd simply run away from the Gallows and had a spontaneous ceremony.

"Do you think you threw your garter at Samson and make it look like an accident?" he jokes.

Phillipa laughs. "I'm not sure he would be my friend anymore if I did."

"I can say it is a thank you present," he remarks, stepping away, "There wouldn't be any letters without him."

"You did throw it haphazardly," Orphelia recalls, "Though he hit it as it was flying through the air to aim it somewhere else. Mia hit it again, like some crude sport and Cullen caught it, looking half flustered and proud of himself."

Phillipa chuckles. "I have no doubt!"

It sounds so real she does not care why Ophelia said it. Her eyes fill with tears at the thought. This is a wedding, _hers_! Maker, the feeling of excitement overwhelms her. In the blurriness, she observes her wedding dress. It is every bit of beautiful as she hopes it would be. The material is an ivory cream with floral patterned lace that binds to her body until her hips, where it layers and splays out like waves of the Gallows harbour. Few layers are a faint tint of bronze or rouge, and string paints lines of petals upon her chest and belly. Brilliant gold string lines her cleavage and around her hips

"If Samson refused to pass the letters," the bride mentions, addressing Maddox, "Would you have attempted to find another?"

"Of course!" he jokes, and he steps away from the railing, "Though I'm happy Samson did it, aren't you?"

Phillipa nods and finds her legs are shaking. "I am. With all honesty – I am so blessed to have met you, my forever."

Maddox smiles with great fondness and interlocks their fingers together.

Ophelia guides the newlyweds back to the golden effigies of the Chantry entrance.

Phillipa wants to know whether the demon actually witnessed a ceremony, so she decides to see if the demon's other answers are equally convincing and in line with how her friends would react. "Did anyone cry?"

"Your parents and Zoe," Ophelia says, playing music again.

That sounded believable.

"What cake did we have?"

"Your mother made it. Spiced apple cake with cinnamon buttercream."

A creation of that level of skill could _only_ be made by her mother.

"Yummmm, is there any left?!" Maddox chimes in, boisterous with elation.

"Phillipa generously allowed the guests to take extra slices, but I saved two left."

* * *

The inside of the Chantry is equally empty, but there is a trail of the gold, white, black and red petals on the grey tiles, glittering from the red candles at the feet of the golden statues. They do not stop walking until reaching the space at the bottom of the stairs. The staircases have been closed. Maddox is staring at the three gigantic statues above them.

There are rows of chairs, some benches, though they are empty except for strips of linen. Her husband departs to check them, "Seating allocation," he remarks, moving one.

Orphelia stood far back and plays another melody, the sounds filling the entire cathedral with its beauty.

Alarmed, Phillipa notices a pile of neatly organized gifts on a table against the wall, and then peers down at her own hands. They appear ghostly, a feature of the Fade, though there is a golden ring on one of her fingers.

Phillipa doesn't know what to think or say, so she only trails behind Maddox as he looks at the pile of presents. He pulls out a book from the pile, "Gardening," he scoffs, taking out something else, "A chess board?"

"Maybe…" she looks at the present, "Cullen?"

Taking it from Maddox, she spots a piece of parchment that starts to slide away, and she grabs it.

Dear Maddox and Phillipa,

I won't write I'm entirely pleased, more… _baffled_ by this arrangement. None the less, the two of you deserve as much happiness in your marriage as anybody else. No times at home would be complete without a strategy game. Do enjoy it. – Cullen Rutherford

The bride giggles, "For a Fade created illusion, it resonates with incredible accuracy."

"I've never been good at chess," Maddox shrugs, "but a resemblance to reality is reassuring. What's this?"

She puts the present on a barer part of the table.

He removes a bottle of wine from the pile and passes it to Phillipa, "Yours."

The lovely bride and meddlesome groom,

I am so awful with presents, so I convinced Jed to donate this wine without any charge from me! I hope you like it? Mum said you could use it for cooking if you don't want to drink it. More importantly, Maddox, please make memories together worthy of Philippa's corny books. You know where to find me if you need a listening ear! – Zoe Elizabeth Strom

Maddox laughs, now holding onto a basket, "My mage friends bought me a set of clothes and rose teas– guess they couldn't think of anything else."

"That sounds exciting!" Phillipa agrees, not liking the mage robes, "Oh, my old charges…. They…"

She blushes, picking out some wedding lingerie and bath oils, "Maker, this is…"

Quickly, she moves the gift to the other side of the table and covers it with the chess board, hoping Maddox won't see. Thankfully the groom is too busy looking at another present.

Confusion fills her. There is still their honeymoon to go. _Are we going to consecrate our marriage by sharing our bodies? Do I feel like it? Would that mean my chastity vow will be nulled?_

She feels her head ache with the thoughts. No, she is meant to keep this to a minimum!

"Aw, how nice. My parents are going to give me their old smithing materials so they can buy new ones." Maddox placed a half opened letter to the side.

There are not many gifts left.

Phillipa lifts out a copy of the Chant of Light from its wrapping, though the leather is very expensive and engraved with patterns. The text inside also is accompanied with intricate sketches.

To my most gracious and only daughter,

Congratulations on your big day, Phillipa. I was unbelievably surprised that your fiance was a mage, but I think it surprised everybody, didn't it? It will have its own set of challenges, but if that is the worst of it, I suspect your marriage will be very successful. It makes me so humbled that you didn't give up on love because of your mother and I, my dear. I know that it was difficult for you, even if you don't remember it. I still care deeply for your mother, though for whatever reason the Maker finds we are better off as distant friends. I hope the Maker blesses Maddox and yourself with a happy life.

I had this copy of the Chant sent to me from a researcher in Orlais. Given the texts are different, my associate was kind enough to write notes inside on where the versions differ. I hope it gives you guidance and peace, in marriage and outside of it.

I'm grateful the two of you spent a few days at my house beforehand. It was a pleasure to meet Maddox, though I hope he was not just putting on the gentleman act to impress me!

Keep in touch.

Your very proud father!

Phillipa places the Holy Text to the side and finds she is crying, though this time it is from happiness. Before she admits it, Maddox places an envelope under Phillipa's nose.

"Read it! Read it," he says.

Bewildered, wiping a tear from her eye, only finding that make up came with it, she reads over the note.

Maddox and Phillipa,

I can't say I've ever been invited to a wedding before. Thanks, and I made it in one piece. I don't know how to make my thoughts sound good, but I guess the letter writing wasn't for nothing, right?

I couldn't find a present if it would kill me so I asked for my charge's advice. He said to get you a herbal potion to… um…. Best you read the label. If you think it's a terrible present, blame Avery. It isn't my fault.

I keep thinking I'm going to get in trouble, even if this happened…. I can just see it. Meredith will say what an idiot I am for all this?

Good luck and…. whatever else people write for these things.

Samson

Philipa chuckles but it quickly ends when Maddox puts the flask on the other table. It is shaped as a heart – typical marketing – and is the colour of deep violet.

"It's a contraceptive," he mutters, slightly embarrassed, "Don't worry, though. We don't have to use it."

She is so relieved by that notion that she considers the requirement for the potion anyway.

"I don't think those sorts of actions have consequence in the Fade?" Philipa asks, blushing, "Indeed, it would be _interesting_ if it did, and…"

"It doesn't." Ophelia calls over from her place in the room.

Phillipa lets some of her hair fall over one of her eyes. There is more to worry about in lust than the possibility of bearing child. She wants to talk about her chastity vow, but she doesn't want to around the demon so stays silent. Both eyes fall on the table. There is only one gift left. Maddox picks up the letter, and Philipa looks at the present.

"It's a clock," she says bewildered, "What a bewildering gift."

It is pretty, a polished wooden one with metal hands,

"Orsino. That explains it." Maddox remarks, tipping the note sideways.

"The First Enchanter?" Philipa gasps, and she nearly rips the page tearing it from Maddox's grip. She feels unnerved, wondering why he would provide them with a gift. 

Maddox and Philipa,

Forgive the gift. It is an old clock from my office, but I thought it more useful as memorabilia of the life you are leaving behind. Meredith is, you presume correctly, frustrated by this union, though she disgruntling agreed to sign after much irksome disagreement and 'meetings'. I am unsure if it is a pleasantry.

I wish the two of you happiness; it is my hope that one day mages can enter these arrangements without so much paperwork and process. Pray with me, on Andraste and on your souls for this outcome.

Be healthy and happy,

First Enchanter Orsino

Knight Commander Meredith Stannard

"Hey, what's with the clock?" Maddox wonders, prodding it.

"What is the matter with it?" Philipa asks, placing the letter down. The mage points.

"It's going backwards."

The bride observes. The clock hadn't been moving initially, but now, like Maddox said, it is ticking in the wrong direction.

"So it is," Philipa says, somewhat transfixed by it. With a pang of guilt, she's reminded that they are in the Fade. When she looks at Maddox, his eyes are filled with the same guilt, but he hides the clock underneath the gifts.

"It's probably just broken," he says.

Though they both know the truth, it wouldn't be broken without reason, Philipa denies it, "I agree. Orsino said it was an old clock. It doesn't work how it should."

On the insistence of Ophelia the two eat their slices of cake and enjoy a slow out-of-time waltz around the Chantry before Maddox raises a hand and magic begins to swirl around it, "Do you want to go to our honeymoon, my wife?"

Philipa looks away so she can forget that they are in the Fade. "Yes, my husband."

* * *

They reappear in the middle of an extravagant, though small room in a castle, Maddox's idea. There is a rug on the floor, wooden floorboards, bookshelves around them, naturalistic paintings of various styles, and an empty fireplace. Many stands with light are around the room, eliminating most shadows. Throwing his arms up in triumph that Ophelia did not follow them, he pulls some pillows over with a spell and balances them on his head.

At first he grins, though his eyes dart to the ceiling, confused, "Aw, it's not quite as satisfying as books."

The bride giggles and holds out her hands, and Maddox propels one in her arms, "What should we do?"

"We can do whatever you like, Mrs Evitt."

"That's the trouble," Philipa says, "I can't decide."

The confusion returns, the heart break, disappointment, love and joy at once, the questions, hopes and expectations. She feels tears fill her eyes before she knows what is happening next.

"It is a _lie_ , Maddox," she chokes, trying to wipe her eyes. But the tears are still part of the Fade. The lovely floor they stood on, the ceremony they missed, the taste of the cake, the sound of the melodies, the feel of the dress, and the colours of the smudged make up on her arms, all of it was a fabrication. "It wasn't supposed to be this way. I wanted my friends and family there! I want to wake up in the Gallows tomorrow and have those around me provide congratulations or praise the sketches!"

She reprimands herself for getting so emotional, knowing she'd aimed to enjoy herself.

The mage merely frowns at her and takes the pillow from her, "I'm sorry. If it upsets you that much, you can take the ring off. I won't get offended."

"No!" Phillipa protests, "I want it. Maddox, I want _this_. It is beautiful, everything I wanted. You look so handsome, and you are so kind, but I wish it didn't have to be in the Fade. It's not fair!"

It is fortunate that the mage had taken the pillow or she would have thrown it on the ground.

"What would cheer you up?" he asks, gaze pleading.

And she tells Maddox of her confusion and doubts concerning her vow. He listens intently, though a look of guilt appears on his face.

"You're far better at anticipating consequences than me," he explains, "so think about the emotional consequences of making either choice."

"If I break my vow," she says, sitting on the ground with the pillow, "I will be happy while I'm _here_ , but once I go back I think I would feel very confused about what it means."

She is grateful he is happy to talk her through it.

"And if you don't?"

She hesitates. "I think I would be sad while I'm here, but confused once I go back as well, because I do want to, while I have the chance, regardless of whether I am truly married or not, though the Maker has witnessed it." She looks at the hand with the ring on the finger, "There's joy and confusion, or sadness and confusion. Maddox… what do you think? Does this confuse you as well?"

Even if they've already spoken of this once before, it is one of those topics that needs more than one instance of reassurance.

The mage walks over with his pillow and sits beside her, taking her hand, "All of this is real to me, Fade or not, we are both experiencing something right now, the same." He pauses. "You've seen my demons. You know what I want, but I also won't give in to them, not unless you want me to."

Philipa squeezes his hand. "You are too patient, Maddox. It must be painful."

"Seeing you upset is worse," he mentions, and there is sadness in his eyes too, "Don't worry about me."

Unable to silence the love in her heart, she leans forward and kisses Maddox on the cheek. "I want you to have my body… The Maker knows that too… but what happens when we go back?"

Maddox appears distressed at mention of the word. "You're my girl. That won't change if I'm not in the Fade."

"Will you still be my husband?" Philipa asks, "Or is this all pretend to you?"

"I will be so long as you want me to." Maddox replies, "though if anything happens, I don't want to be able to know what that suffering is like."

The bride does not entirely understand what this means, though it is a relief he is giving her the power to choose.

"Thank you." She moves her face so close their noses are touching and gently kisses him. "I only wish we didn't have to hide. To think we're in a book cabinet right now. It is so silly."

"We're here," Maddox corrects her, "not in a book cabinet."

Phillipa wants to stop thinking about it so decides to believe him. If this is real, of course, she wants to break her vow. She desires syncretism.

Their kisses are gentle, filled with all the emotions that had been with them on this journey. The intrigue upon meeting and the excitement of passing letters, waking up with a smile from dreams, passing glances across corridors, the explosion of emotion from speaking, going on dates in the Fade, learning, teaching, sharing passion, unravelling their minds and deepest needs. Only it slowly changes as their hands start to wander. His hands to her chest, hers to his waist, though she is careful, not wanting to make a go too far too fast, displease him or herself.

"You're beautiful," Maddox mumbles, "too bad we can't keep the dress. It would be give me the greatest bragging rights."

"Please don't boast," Philipa mutters, and she lets out a bizarre sound as Maddox kisses her neck. The frisson is like electricity going around her body.

"I was joking," Maddox amends, "I'd only brag if we had a real wedding."

Though she knows by the tone this is a joke too.

Philipa opens her shoulders as she runs her fingers down Maddox's neck and down to his collar, "I wish it was."

"I'm sorry I can't give you one."

"I forgive you. It's not your fault. It's just the way things are."

"But it won't be this way forever."

"No." though internally she thinks, _I don't want to think about it._

Their kisses intensify and Maddox brings a hand to her leg and traces patterns in her skin. The bride moves his hands further up her legs. She isn't sure what to expect, as she'd only pleasured herself in the shower once or twice. She runs her hands gently over the fabric beneath his belt, but his body already pined for her.

"What do I do?" Philipa asks, realizing how stupid of a question this is.

"Where do you want to do this?" Maddox wonders, incredibly close to her face.

"I – I don't know," she hesitates, not able to think with all the heat inside, "The bed looks comfortable – but is that too boring?"

"No, this is a bed in a castle!" Maddox stands and dives onto the bed, "Unless you want to try the fireplace? Hey, let's see how much noise it'll make."

Philipa slowly gets to her feet, light headed, and turns red as she sees Maddox walk on the covers to the head of the bed with his shoes on and pull on the frame. It shrieks.

"Don't break it!" she warns, and Maddox laughs.

"I'll be so gentle with you I doubt I'll make dust move." He says. Never mind a bed in the Fade probably couldn't break. "I am just being stupid. I wonder how we remove your dress."

"I can take it off now if you like?" Philipa says uncertainly.

Maddox sits down on the bed and pulls one of his shoes off, "These first, my wife."

"Curses." Philipa wonders if her face is on fire. She swears she is not usually this absent minded, "I know…."

The blonde sits on the edge of the bed and takes off her heels, "I'm sorry. I did read all these books and I'm so happy I can't remember what any of them said."

"Don't worry," Maddox mentions, removing the last of his socks, "Just forget about the books. Is there anything you don't want me to do?"

"Umm," Philipa tries to take off her dress, but she realizes it is tied up at the back, "Nothing from the book about the Nobleman's obsession."

It was atrocious, with a lot of cruelty and acts she found obscene, including the woman being shot at the end of the story – hardly romantic!

"Ah, got you." Maddox takes a moment to remember the story, "Easy enough. Are you sure you want to take that off?"

"What do you mean?"

"It _is_ a dress, my angel."

"Y-Yes." Philipa crawls over to him on the bed, "but I want you to touch me, even if the dress is gorgeous."

"Yeah, maybe we won't ruin it today." Maddox reaches behind her and unwraps the cords while kissing her.

_Zoe was right. It is impossible to only want one perfect kiss._

Philipa whispers in his ear as the dress slackens around her shoulders, "I feel like I am going to erupt into flame with… all these emotions."

She truly did mean feelings, though he interprets it as something else…. which might not be entirely inaccurate either.

"Already?" Maddox mentions with a grins, "I mean, not that it's a bad thing. I better stop stalling."

"Yes, you should." Phillipa manages to joke. As the mage holds onto the bottom of her dress to pull it up, she starts to undo the notch of his belt.

The woman lets go and as her dress is removed and her form is visible except for underclothes, white and gold, she glows with the appreciation of being admired. Maddox is speechless for a few moments, though he takes off his clothes as well, trying not to look away from her.

"Philipa," he manages, finally, once they are both wearing little. Maddox's form is rather uneven – his arms have more muscle than the rest, but he does not appear self-conscious about it, "are you _really_ sure about this?"

"Now more than ever," she says, crawling under the covers so she doesn't freeze, "Please, have me. All of me… I want you to."

Maddox is right. He is very careful and gentle with her, although as her libido intensifies Phillipa keeps whispering that she wants him to have her, and he becomes more fervent and concentrated with the kisses, quicker with his fingers. She helps pull the last off her clothes and his, hers. There is no judgement. There is no cruelty or denial of the moment, only acceptance and love.

Her most foolish thought for today is that she thinks she could be satisfied with only looking, as when he uses his mouth on her she can barely take it anymore. She feels the tears form. She groans and squirms from underneath, both wishing to object to his goal and willing to comply. She feels sweat gather from the sheets, her legs slacken and she begs, like she has never begged before, for him to give into his ache for her.

Thankfully Maddox seems to understand. They steal kisses when able as he spreads her legs further apart and, with her feedback, guides himself to her.

"Try not to soak through the whole mattress," he says, "We need to cuddle on it afterwards."

 _What a fool,_ she scolds _, there shall be cuddles no matter what!_

"Demon, I _will_ ruin the mattress!" she declares, stare imperious.

Maddox chuckles, almost intimidated by this idea…. "That sounds like fun."

Too lustful for jokes, she pulls his lips to hers and demands more with the earnestness of her tongue, urging his body closer, wanting it to happen faster. The dark bed covers and the colours from the paintings around her swirl and blur. It is no longer cold, but immeasurably warm. She has not had much chance to pleasure Maddox in this time, but he is so needing it does not seem to matter. She has waited too long for this, thought about it too much… her greatest desire is to eliminate all pondering to welcome pure emotion.

When he enters her their moans are close to identical. It doesn't hurt, though this _is_ the Fade and she moves against him to make it feel the need satisfied the best, and he tries to hold her, using his lips to cherish wherever he can reach. She clutches one hand to sheets and the other to him, unable to figure out where to put her hands or whether she even cared.

"Does it hurt?" he asks. It is so calm but compassionate that she is reminded of their first kiss.

Philipa shakes her head, "I love you."

The conversation is a distant blur compared to the heat of their passion. Her gaze is somewhere else, eyelids are half to fully shut, lost in sensation, wanting nothing to do with the mind.

"I love you too. I'm so glad it isn't hurting you."

He thrusts slower, but more forceful, and with each one it makes her weaker. The boundary between him and her is further confused.

"You'd never hurt me."

"I've already hurt you so much, and when this is all over you're going to be hurting all over again…"

Their consecration quickens, their laments for unity become their own language.

"No… don't talk about it." Philipa strokes the side of his face, "We're here and I love being here." this _felt_ real, "I never want to go. Stay with me always."

Maddox doesn't reply, possibly too distressed by the conversation, but he kisses her instead, though there is something different about the way he brings his tongue as far down in her mouth as it is possible to go. It is almost like he is trying to forget the other world, he wants to hold onto this one as tightly as he is gripping onto her.

The bride doesn't find it alarming, for she agrees. The waking world is the farce and lie. This one is real. She adapts to the love of her forever, two parts of one entity, and feels like she ceases to have a body as it disintegrates. Her desires for love and destruction have found their resting place, here in a bed. This mage is going to love her so much her heart will no longer understand regular emotions. A piece of him will remain, and she wants to preserve part of her soul with him too.

Maddox finds the peak of desire first, a combination of sweat, warmth and love, but he pushes past the waves of his pleasure until she cries out in ecstasy and the two rest in the bed, gasping for air. The sheets are soaked from all manner of fluid, though it is not an unpleasant sensation. There is only peace and serenity. Her thoughts distant and slow, she understands why her peers blather about this act now. It is like glimpsing the Maker's light and glory. At least, that's how she feels it is with her husband, and she never wants the clarity to leave. No person drowns in the Maker's creation. It is the truth.

Why do all these pleasant moments need to end?

"Stay with me," Philipa repeats.

The words are disjointed and her voice is detached from her throat, though their minds are too close to be misunderstood. Their bodies are limp and malleable, also linked together and sticky.

"I want to." Maddox breathes.

"Love me." she replies, nearly delirious in the after effects of her pleasure, "Be my husband. Live with me in a house and we can have a long life together."

It doesn't matter anymore if it makes sense or not. There is nothing restraining her.

"I want to." he repeats in somnolence.

Like he has run through the entirety of the Gallows, his words are as slow as the rising and fall of his ribs. She holds him close, not caring for the sweat and the mess. She loves him so much and everything is so unfair.

As though beaten, tears fall down her face as a wave of unexpected affection and balefulness comes over her.

"Why can't we have all these things?" she asks, "Why are we drowning in the ocean? Why can't we just stay here?"

"We can stay here…" he murmurs, in his own half-awake dream.

"Can we?"

"Let's stay here…" he mumbles, kissing her on the cheek, "We don't have to leave."

"I don't want to leave."

The vulnerability is so undeniable she feels she would listen to anything.

"We won't leave."

"Really?"

Maddox slides droopily off of her and moves to her side, wrapping his hands around her waist and resting his head on her shoulder.

"Yes."

They lie there for a long time, it becomes impossible to know how long.

As the pleasure fades, the horror of rationality returns. The thought of Ophelia comes back. There are demons in the world, and they aim to destroy the Maker's will and make others forget.

She has a duty. She needs to return, they both do.

But it is perfect here.

Her vow is broken, and she does not regret it, but the Gallows will try to make her know shame.

Phillipa doesn't want to fight anymore.

The tears come and go in waves, but every time Maddox comforts her. Often, he reminds her to stay. Whenever Phillipa says they have to leave sometime, he denies it.

"Don't worry about it." he assures her, "Just stay here with me. Nothing else has to matter."

This cycle of upset and calming happens so many times that once it fizzles out Philipa wonders what kind of experience this is. What does it mean to rest in the Fade? It far more calming to remain in the Fade than to depart. No matter the hours that pass, it is impossible to decipher, but she still doesn't want to leave.

Maddox still tells her to stay.

Ser Phillipa understands finally. Neither of them want to leave.

So they don't. They stay in the bed in each other's arms. They become so lost in the warmth and comfort of the embrace that they hardly notice when a blue light envelops the sheets and their surroundings melt away.

* * *

Returning to the physical realm is painful. The emotional warmth of the Fade remains like reminiscing on a happy memory, however Philipa's muscles, bones and stomach are stiff, her movements uncoordinated and sore. Upon the force and suddenness of returning, like the abrupt halt of a horse, she loses balance and, barely seeing, lifelessly catches herself against the book cabinet wall with a loud clang.

The sound throbs and her brain is such a haze she doesn't immediately recognize the two figures in front of her, blue light drifting from their bodies like the ether of their souls.

The cabinet is open.

Illuminated by daylight from some windows, there stands a young girl around seventeen and a much older man with pointed ears, both in mage robes. Shadows of bars create large lines on the ground. It doesn't look real. Why are they there?

There is a phylactery in the older mage's hand, and a spell eddying from the other. His thick eyebrows are furrowed.

Squinting from the light, the reaction is more delayed than it should. The Templar's thoughts are slow and detached like in the Fade.

 _One of them looks like the First Enchanter,_ Philipa thinks absently, _though he does not look angry often._

 _Yes._ She notices, _it is Orsino, but what is he doing here?_

The emotions are slower to appear than the thoughts. The mages are quicker.

"Good morning, Ser Phillipa, Maddox," Orsino says, pulling his hand back, breaking the spell.

It is not an inappropriate reaction as she feels as though she is half asleep, overcome with the dreams she left, all rationality and sense gone.

 _They are greeting me?_ She wonders, too busy staring at the phylactery. _Where am I again_?

"Maker's grace, their eyes! Do you see the damage the Fade inflicts?" Orsino urges to the younger mage, "Their minds are still attached. Communication will be difficult." He takes a step forward, eyes intensive, "Can you hear me?"

Trying to figure out how to move her neck again, Phillipa manages to nod rigidly. She could hear, but not understand.

"Maddox! Thank the Maker you're okay," says the small girl, maybe one of his roommates. She suddenly squeaks, turns red and averts her eyes.

 _What? Why… she is frightened…?_ She can't think at her normal speed.

Philipa wants to move her head to the side to check that Maddox is fine, but she finds it physically difficult, "First… Enchanter?" she manages, her voice hoarse.

"Lunch is almost over," Orsino explains roughly, stepping closer to them and physically pulling Philipa out of the cabinet by her shoulder. Not wanting to fall over, she grips onto Orsino's arm for dear life, like a small child who doesn't know how to walk. Even then, she slips.

The First Enchanter does not hesitate.

"Get Maddox out, Astrid."

The Templar hears as the female mage tugs Maddox out, blushing to her ears.

 _Lunch… we were here since…._ Phillipa almost trips over nothing from her knees buckling, _What time… how much time…. Midnight…_

"Listen closely," Orsino keeps his words concise. The tone is firm, pressing the boundary between an order and a whisper, "I shall pen to Meredith that you are both ill. You needn't continue with your customary duties on this day. Keep active and stay out of your quarters. When you are awake enough, come speak to me individually in my office. I shall keep this to myself but on a strict condition. Please, children... You must swear you do not resort to recklessness and enter the Fade like that ever again." he pauses, to make sure the words are registering, "It is extremely dangerous."

This ends the careful control. Suddenly, the explanation bursts into a tirade, "I have no superior deduction than to conclude I ceased an unintentional suicide in the making. Mad! Oh, it makes me ire. I have more questions but I will wait. Andraste understands I tire of such malarkey, but enter the Fade like this again and the Knight Commander will know."

The rant went in one ear and disappeared into nothingness, not reaching the other side.

 _Did we get caught?_ Phillipa realizes way too late _, Is that it? Did Orsino find us with Maddox's phylactery? Are we in trouble…_

"Understood." Maddox's voice isn't like himself either, it is hazy and weak.

There is no time to question or discuss, or ability to think, but only to comply.

"Yes, First Enchanter," Philipa says. After the third time, she looks at Maddox and finds he is too busy staring at the ground.

_We must have been found, but how? Why? When?_

She feels Orsino grab her chin and move it up so he can observe her eyes. The statement is absolute. "You need lyrium." He let go, "Return to your room to take it but for nothing else. I forbid you from sleeping. Astrid, stay with them until they can walk."

Astrid appears bewildered. "Y-Yes, ser."

"Thank you," Orsino says briskly, and he leaves the room, "I pray I see you later, children."

The silence is hardly taken in, just as the conversation hadn't.

Astrid approaches them slowly. "Are you okay? Ser Philipa?"

Unable to talk, the Templar rests a hand gently on the mage's head. She notices what has made Astrid blush, for Maddox has stains on his night clothes again. She feels too exhausted to think anything besides the fact she isn't surprised… and there is no ring on his finger.

Suddenly panicked she is still naked, Phillipa's hands dart to her body with a whimper, patting it down, but there is no cause for concern here. The mage grips onto Phillipa tighter to stop her from falling to the ground.

 _We were caught_. She repeats to herself, _we are in trouble._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter yet! Sorry everyone, hehe. I hope you enjoyed it. When I drafted this chapter I listened to a beautiful cover of "My Love is Like a Red, Red Rose" by Rachel Sermanni. See it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-1-PF2kt2jg
> 
> I also included the demon Ophelia from JayRain's Dorian origin story fic "The Magician" which I highly recommend! https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10860218/1/The-Magician


	18. Chapter 18

It is almost lunchtime. That means Zoe, Samson and Cullen are likely working.

Philipa doesn't encounter or seek any of her friends on the way to her quarters. She avoids discussion and eye contact with her brother and sister Templars as her bare feet slap the stone flooring, feeling dizzy and light headed.

 _There is no doubt they are looking at me,_ she realizes, since she is still in her nightclothes, _I wonder where they think I've been._

The floor swirls. Is this lyrium withdrawal or a longing for the Fade and her lover?

The First Enchanter's words repeat in her head, but their full impact comes slowly. Rest this day to recover from illness. Keep active to waken the mind. It _sounds_ reasonable by itself though she feels chagrin and unease. The full impact of the encounter envelops her as she shuts the door to her quarters.

She knows indignity and shame. She recalls it comparing her body to Zoe's in youth. Her roommate starts to take more notice in her appearance as her bust swells, though Phillipa doesn't understand why she has been left behind. She remembers crying in her quarters once about it after being teased by the boys. Sometimes it isn't even purposeful or derogatory, but the simple undeniable reality that Zoe suddenly has all this attention and Phillipa is pushed aside. And how it intensifies when her body finally morphed from its girlish form and she is so unnerved she loses sight of why she wanted the changes in the first place.

She understands now. It is nice to be recognized for who she is and not how she appears different to others. There is a comfort in labels and appearances being ignored. This is not so dissimilar from that experience. It is worse. Now she is the _Templar_ who is surreptitious with a _mage_.

She suspects it began with Astrid waking and not finding Maddox in his bed. When he is not at breakfast, the mage tells Orsino and the First Enchanter goes to find him. Orsino and Astrid find Maddox in a cabinet with a Templar, in a stupor, and Maddox has stains on his robes, a detail that clues the nature of their rendezvous.

A blush rises to her cheeks.

 _Maker, that must have looked awful,_ Philipa realizes _,_ trying not to collapse, _how embarrassing._

Now she feels ill. When mages are sick a Templar is stationed to patrol the floor of their quarters. The rationale is to prevent escapes due to falsifying sickness, a feat achieved by the right spells.

This means that Maddox would be in close contact with Ser Chandler today and would be unlikely to sleep even if he wanted to. Her lover would be in company, but feel unsupported. He shall endure more humiliation than her.

When a Templar is sick their charges are temporarily assigned to another or the rosters are changed for guard duty. The roommate of the Templar is the first choice. Phillipa has memories of Zoe keeping her company in meal breaks, and before the Circle or during free time; the comfort is provided by her father.

Today Phillipa does not have that same support. She has to confess to her sins, though to a figure of authority and not the safeness of the Chantry. She feels embarrassed, sick and isolated.

 _Perhaps_ , she laments, _this is how the mages feel every day._

She hopes it isn't true.

What must Zoe think of her then? Perhaps she told Cullen or Samson and they are looking for her. 

As the brightness of lyrium dribbles down the back of her throat and part of her strength returns, she fights not to lie down in the bed, gets dressed in ordinary garb and departs.

* * *

Phillipa feels disorientated most of the morning. Her eyes lose focus as she stares at the parchment of a thick book labelled _Early Records of Demon Possession._

Maddox and hers relationship is beyond letters. Perhaps it is unsalvagable. Their love would change after today, no matter what the outcome, because of the discussion with the First Enchanter. Would it simply be a conversation about how Maddox and hers relationship is not worth pursuing… or would it be worse?

The Templar considers she needs to get out of the Gallows and how she might be able to do that. But Maddox might not be able to write to her then, either.

_Curses._

What about Ser Chandler? Perhaps she could speak to him privately about helping Maddox keep focused so he may do his Harrowing.

"Sister!"

Phillipa closes the book and turns the cover face down so the title is obscured. She knows before she looks up that it is Zoe.

Her roommate sits down in front of her, keeping her charges in earshot. Slowly Phillipa smiles. Zoe is so vibrant with her straight teeth in a grin. Phillipa should tell her more about Maddox, though she isn't sure what. As abstract as the Fade is… but it is still important.

An opportunity arises when Zoe mouths, "What happened?"

She waves her arms around like using sign language at triple speed, insinuating she suspects Maddox.

Phillipa slowly nods, though not much else happens.

"It won't happen again," she says, returning to her book.

"Tell me about it later?" Zoe requests. "Don't worry, I told the others you slept in."

"Thank you." Phillipa is fearful and grateful of the suggestion. "I will consider it carefully."

Zoe appears concerned but she brushes it off, turning her chair around to observe her two charges. They talk about that instead. It is easier. Though she is reminded of hardship when Zoe leaves and Phillipa decides she can't tell Zoe anything, no matter how well intentioned.

* * *

"Come in,"

Philipa does, feeling less dizzy, but still unclear in thought. Orsino immediately looks up from his desk, ears as pointed as his gaze. The office is similar in size to the Knight Commanders. There are large diamond shaped tiles on the floor which are the color of rust, not grey. The walls are nicely decorated with paintings and commemorative shields. The red rug also gives Phillipa some comfort that she is not truly in the Gallows. "Thank you for coming, child. I ask that – no, keep silent. I request we speak out of audible range of the Knight Commander's office."

Before Phillipa can respond the First Enchanter brings a finger to his lips to suggest that she keeps quiet. This is unexpected. The Templar follows the First Enchanter. This is also unanticipated. This only happens if a phylactery has been lost or a record of a missing mage is filed. Do her brothers and sisters find it odd? She does not pay enough attention to notice.

Phillipa tries to stay calm and focuses on the gold outlines of the elf's navy robes. She keeps her posture straight, despite exhaustion. There is no speaking, but only marching. As they brace the cold of the Hall, up a few staircases to a narrow corridor, The First Enchanter looks through bars of the rooms, trying to find a spare one. Eventually he groans and opens one without bars.

"This room is needed momentarily and immediately," he says sternly. "I ask you abandon it."

Philipa keeps clear and avoids acknowledging the motley group of mages and two Templars leave, appearing slightly panicked. She doesn't know if they look at her.

The elf passes Phillipa a look before walking inside and locks the door behind her.

"I apologize for making you leave your office, First Enchanter," Phillipa blurts out, realizing her shame has not left.

"That is of little concern to me, Ser Phillipa," Orsino says, appearing agitated, "I did not mean to cause a commotion, but I'd like to prevent any worse. Asking some of yours and my people to leave a room is nothing compared to the dire circumstances yourself and Maddox are in, or what I fear the Knight Commander will do if she finds out."

This is going to be a talk about how it is hopeless. She does not want to hear it.

"I'm sorry, First Enchanter," Phillipa bows her head in shame.

"Ser Phillipa," Orsino lets his arms fall in frustration, "It is not my goal for this to be a punishment. I would like to understand so I can stop this proceeding any further, and measures can be put in place to prevent this happening to others in the Circle. Yourself and Maddox are not the only couple I have discovered, even if I have not been with the Gallows for long. It is an experience universal to all Circles across the nation in varying extents. Try not to feel perturbed."

In shock, the Templar meets Orsino's purple eye. She has no prediction of how the talk would end anymore, but she has a hope for mercy.

"That's correct, First Enchanter." She feels herself blush again, "I don't know where to start."

The elf pulls up two chairs opposite each other with magic, and they both sit down.

Orsino appears uncomfortable, trying to decide what to ask next, "Many thanks for you coming forward to talk. I am impressed by your Fade visits, no matter how atrocious I find it. That school of magic takes an extraordinary amount of skill. Now, do not tell me the _details_ of your meetings – I do not want to know!"

"I do not wish to tell you either, Orsino." Phillipa admits, honestly.

"How many times have you entered the Fade in his company?" Orsino says, leaning forward.

"Uh…" she tries to remember, "Possibly a dozen times, First Enchanter."

The mage looks affronted, but does not comment. "And for how long have you been in contact? I have never seen you converse or even go near each other in this Circle."

"Around ten months," Phillipa says, although she hadn't been keeping count.

"Maker's grace!" Orsino's outrage is expressed in his arms, "You have kept your relationship secret for that long? Mages and Templars… I have only heard of fleeting drunken encounters from some of my people."

How much did Orsino know about this and how many had he caught? Clearly he knows more than what is indicated by the dismissal files in Meredith's office.

"I share your frustrations, First Enchanter,"

"Maddox… did he start it?"

"Yes."

"I do not know why I asked!" he admits hastily, "you are far too well organized." Orsino takes a moment to calm himself, "My knowledge is thwarted, Ser Phillipa. Maddox's rashness and your rationality… it is perhaps too cunning a combination. Perhaps that is why…. I ask because I have never seen or heard _any_ enter the Fade as you have. What by the name of the Maker's glory lured you to do so?"

Phillipa ponders, "For freedom, Orsino, for we cannot go on dates like regular lovers."

The First Enchanter looks confused at the mention of 'dates'. "I have never heard of such an extreme."

"I'm sorry."

"No. It is not… it is not as simple as that. I will try control my discontentment, but please stop apologizing Ser Phillipa. Like I said, I only want to understand to prevent this happening in future." He pauses and moves his chair closer to her, "Do you know why I have forbidden you to enter the Fade again?"

Phillipa looks at her dress covered knees. She wishes the outfit matched her identity and that she is merely a Kirkwall girl, "Because we are not supposed to enter the Fade willingly, Orsino – there are demons, risk of possession and being trapped there by its goodness."

The First Enchanter repeats the question again, "Do you know why I have forbidden _you_ from entering the Fade with Maddox ever again?"

Phillipa knows. It is because the Fade is too wonderful, if she stayed there forever she would die, it was a trick of the Fade, but why must she be banned when it is such a nice place? 

"I didn't mean for this to happen."

"I understand that. You are an incredibly studious and well respected Templar," Orsino mentions, ever containing frustration, "It makes it all the more important that you understand why I have made this choice for you."

Phillipa understands, but she also knows she doesn't want to be banned. She wishes Orsino had never taken her out of the Fade, "I don't want to be forbidden from it."

"Clearly, the Fade has warped your mind," Orsino says quickly, "You have no understanding of why I am not allowing you to enter there, do you?"

Phillipa feels the embarrassment of being found out and the weight of her situation, "Orsino, the Fade is not a bad place! Maddox and I fought the demons. We kept them away."

The mage is angry now, "You just told me moments ago you understood that the Fade lures the vulnerable with their desires. Can you not see how it has tempted you as well? Both of you?"

"It's better than the Gallows!" Phillipa shouts, finally, "It is so much better I struggle to want to be here anymore!"

The words are most awful, though they are also the truth. This is what she is hiding, what has slowly pulled at her mind. There are two Phillipas and they are separating. Even Cullen is unaware of the depth of her sadness. The First Enchanter does not appear shocked by the words, though nervous.

"This is exactly why you must not enter the Fade with him again," Orsino says, "Do you not think about your friends and family? What the impact of Maddox and yourselves deaths would be?"

"No." Phillipa says, "I'd never stay there for that long."

The mage covers his face in his hands, "You are a very confused woman. Can you not hear yourself? If I had not come along and found you, when were you going to come back?"

Phillipa feels afraid, but of herself, "It is not so awful, First Enchanter. I am often the one reminding Maddox we need to leave. Before you found us, I said we should, many times, but Maddox kept saying we should stay. I was so upset I..."

"Ah… that…" Orsino rubs his temples and sits up straight. He went quiet, as peaceful and wise as the black branch like extensions of his staff, "I see now. Maddox is the one who…"

"He wasn't doing it to harm me, First Enchanter," Phillipa hurriedly adds, "He… he wanted to make me feel better, I think."

"Convincing someone to stay in the Fade is madness," Orsino said loudly, "And he didn't ever think he should leave the Fade as well?"

"No." the blonde explains, "He said he felt very guilty because as soon as we came back I would be upset."

"Andraste's glory, I am too old to orchestrate the love lives of young adults," Orsino says angrily, more to himself, "I hardly know much of it myself, but I must tell you something important. It might help put this problem into perspective." He glances to see if Phillipa is listening, "One of my roommates when I was an apprentice mage was a girl named Maud. Her name still brings the sensation of ice to my bones." He observes Phillipa carefully, "She had a great, overwhelming love for her family. It is not unusual. There are many mages who come from completely capable heritages. I find they suffer the most here. As you know, mages can only write to their parents, not see them. That is what Maud wanted so desperately, more than anything. It did not matter what I did to try help her."

The blonde felt every organ in her body tense simultaneously. This sounded so uncannily familiar.

"She became severely melancholy." Orsino explains steady, "Her life became so bleak she told me that the Gallows was no life. No life at all. What should I find is her dead body in a cabinet. She ended her life on her own. The subject matter is dark, and I despise speaking of it, but I cannot avoid it. Suicides occur in the Gallows. The funeral processes are often held in the Chantry. The victims temporarily stay there while they grieve, and then they get transferred to another Circle because the loss is too difficult. Were they to stay, I fear what would be left of this Circle."

Phillipa is in shock. Like with abuse in the Circle, she'd heard of suicides too, but it was such a sad subject it was rarely mentioned. "I'm deeply apologetic to hear that, First Enchanter. It is dreadful."

"Do you see why I am concerned for your welfare?" Orsino repeats, "Do you take this seriously?"

 _He found us in a cabinet too_ , Phillipa recalls, and she is filled with guilt. Did finding them deeply affected him?

She nods, without saying anything.

"I am relieved, child." Orsino admits, feeling calmer. "Though you are not the only one… From what I see Maddox has a greater desire for escapism than yourself."

"I don't know why." Phillipa presses, though she recalls Maddox does not have contact with his family… unless he lied.

"I shall speak to Maddox about it," the First Enchanter says, "but I cannot help him now. I am here to help you. You said you are unhappy in the Circle?"

"I love the Circle," Phillipa says, "though I…"

"Why is the Fade greater than the Circle if you are so dedicated to it?"

That response is snappish and impatient.

"I want to be with Maddox, First Enchanter," she admits, "I know it is ridiculous but I have tried to stop it. I tried to keep away so many times, but I can't. It feels impossible."

Orsino appears ready to hit his head against the wall, "This… it all comes back to mages and their freedom. All misconduct in the Circle can be summarized as such. This debate is ongoing, as filled with brutality as it was decades ago. I did not tell Knight Commander Meredith about finding you and Maddox because I agree with your stance, no matter how foolish I see its source. Preventing romantic attachments under _all_ circumstances is impossible, _because_ my people, and to an extent, yours, have no opportunity for distance. There is no freedom. It is not like meeting somebody in vast city streets where persons are easily avoided. Mages and Templars are posted into the one place and expected to stay away from each other. Lunacy… I am impressed my people and yours do not trade beds every night, especially mages who have no contact with family."

"I appreciate your sympathy, Orsino," Phillipa says, even if she is greatly disheartened for no more Fade visits.

"That does not change my opinion that Maddox and yourself should not enter the Fade again." Orsino says,"For Maker's sake, why not meet up in a bed like the others?"

Phillipa goes red, "I made a vow to the Maker."

"Vows…." Orsino swipes a hand through the air angry, and his eyes widen with understanding of what she is insinuating. "That is insanity!"

"Why are the rules the way they are?" Phillipa demands, "Do you think they will change? Can we keep hiding forever?"

"The only fact I have no doubt is that the debate on mages and their rights will continue," he explains solemnly, "and as more cases like yours come to light, it shall reach a breaking point. Though it may be another three decades from now, I do not know, and it remains confounded what form the resolution will take."

"Can you change it?" Phillipa demands.

"I have been trying to change it since I was given this position," Orsino says strongly, "though little has come from it yet."

"Will you try harder for us?" she continues, "Please, Orsino. I don't know what to do! I wish…" finally the tears come, "I wished the Fade had been real."

"You disordered woman. This should not have happened to you. I shall continue to stand my ground," Orsino proclaims judiciously, "I can share research into the field, if it aids you, on the condition you do not enter the Fade again. Roll around in each other's beds for what difference it makes to me."

"That would be somewhat reassuring, First Enchanter."

"But if it still disheartening do not hesitate. Come talk to me. Do you swear?" he looks at her for a long while.

Her voice trembling, Philipa submits. "I swear."

"I am relieved to hear it. Speak to me if you are tempted by it, I will do my best to listen. Go get some food."

"If I ever needed to," Phillipa begins slowly, "Would transferring be an option for me?"

"Transferring is always a possibility for those who require it." Orsino says slowly, "Though it would require Knight Commander's approval. I could pen a justification to her, if you need me to, but we are getting ahead of ourselves. For now I'd focus on getting Maddox to approach me. Depending on what he says it will become clearer what is best for the two of you to do. It is complicated. It angers me beyond your comprehension, child, but it is something that needs a careful resolution. I have your welfare in the forefront of my mind. Make no mistake of that, Ser Phillipa."

The woman feels so grateful she thinks she might hug him. It matches the height of her careworn state. "You are a brilliant mentor to your people, First Enchanter. And _my_ people." She decides against a hug for she has been unprofessional enough already, "Thank you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting, but I hope it was enjoyable. In case anyone didn't know, Orsino's talk about the mage he knew is canon... I didn't know about it either until looking at the wiki.  
> Many thanks to Dehaxat on AO3 for beta-ing. Her Solas Quizzie fic "Prayer to Consequence" is amazing. I highly recommend people check it out. http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dehaxat/pseuds/Dehaxat


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay in posting. I was waiting for my beta, Dehaxat, to get back to me. Many thanks to her for feedback.

Letters are passed in quicker succession than normal, partially due to their brevity- instructions and surface level disclosure. Eager to meet soon, an urgency slant is visible in their words.

Their next meeting is not in a cabinet or some cramped, uncomfortable corner. They sneak into the hidden room that holds the memory of their first kiss.

Phillipa feels her breath catch in her chest as she enters. There is something lonely about the room. No comfort or sense of wonder lingers. This is where all the ones who can't be together join to discover the depths of their woes and what is absent from their lives.

The woman loses herself staring at the torch Maddox lights. He is the same as before, dressed in his night robes, and she in hers, yet they have experienced so much since last they stood here. The glow is eerie, the uneasiness of the Fade with the cruelty of reality.

Now she is like everyone else in the Circle, longing for unreachable dreams.

The mage takes her hand with a winsome smile and tells her about the magic he's learning and who he has been spending time with. Phillipa does the same. This simplicity of recollecting friendship is pleasant. It is only a shame that the steps beyond companionship have to be revealed in secret.

Fingers interlocked, stance firm, they sway like they did once at their wedding, a delightful memory from a realm too far from here. Their bare feet are cold as the stone ground, and the shadows dance as they do.

Fairness does not rest in living an illusion.

"Orsino informed me you have yet to speak to him."

Like a tap of broken glass, the image distorts. Despite how their little waltz falters, Maddox frowns. Half in shadow, he avoids her gaze though appears as enamouring as ever.

"I don't want to."

Hostility does not leave his tone.

 _Such an unusual defiance,_ Phillipa notices, uncertain on what to say. Even if he is not socially inclined, Maddox tries to smile. Here, he does not bother. In this world he hesitates with his words and there are consequences for his actions.

Perhaps it is because Orsino knows Maddox by name for how incessantly he causes trouble.

She brings the image of the First Enchanter to mind, and remembers agreeing to his suggestions. Collaborating and deciding on the best outcome for the two of them is important. It would be foolish to assume they have the answers. She intends to keep her word to Orsino and strive to resolve the inner conflict that flowers from the very nature of their relationship. She refuses to allow Maddox to avoid Orsino forever. She hopes that Maddox could find the same comfort in his superior's guidance that she did, if only he could reach out for it. Then everything would be manageable, that their relationship could stay.

To her, even if this clandestine reality is a solemn one, at least there is a glimmer of hope in the very distant future. The First Enchanter's support for their tryst is a blessing and she is very grateful. In this reflection she finds a level head at last. Happiness and sadness may be dancing, though her despair lessens. Finding peace with Maddox's choices is a necessity. Phillipa decides that somehow, before leaving tonight, she will understand his hesitation.

Phillipa halts their dance and puts her hands on Maddox's shoulders. In such a simple movement he stops too.

"He wants to help," she says.

"I know," Maddox replies. He sounds apologetic now, more like his usual self, "but it doesn't change anything."

Phillipa is disheartened to hear these words. Certainly kindness is plenty of reason to hear what a person had to say. "Why is that, my forever?"

The mage avoids her eye. "What's the point? He's only going to tell me what I already know. He can't help."

"He can," Phillipa assures him, "his life work is to change the Circle. He believes it will come. Therefore so will I."

"I don't know, Phillipa." Maddox groans. His arms slacken in defeat. "He's been saying that for years."

"Believe in me," she says, "if you believe in nothing else. We can keep hiding. We only need to keep being careful. It won't be as tiresome once you've passed your Harrowing."

Maddox doesn't answer immediately. "How will talking to him help _me_? It's easy for you to wait for the Circle to change. You're not the one who has to manage all the terrible parts of it."

"Surely you enjoy it a little? There must be people here you _like_ speaking to," Phillipa says, "What about Astrid?"

"It's not that I don't have anybody at all in my life," Maddox explains, "Astrid is nice enough… Samson… even Chandler is okay sometimes. _Everybody_ is nice enough. But I don't want just a _nice_ person. I want more than that, I want…." He suddenly goes quiet, "anyway it doesn't matter."

"What about your parents?" Phillipa inquires, "You said you don't remember them." Perhaps assuming Maddox lost contact with his parents is not the case, "Do they write often?"

"They write every couple of months," Maddox says reluctantly, "That's on and off. They travel all over the world. I sometimes won't get replies for a full calendar year. Or three. But it doesn't matter. I hardly get anything out of it. I only have ink on a piece of parchment. I can't picture who I'm writing to. I don't know what their voices sound like, so when I read I hear my _own_ voice, like I'm talking to myself. And most of the time I get the impression they don't even know what to write to me about, as though it's done out of politeness... I do magic, they do swords… I've taken an interest in what they do, I really enjoy it, but they don't understand magic. It's like trying to ask a dog to meow. It won't ever happen. They're just not built for it." He seems frustrated again. "Why should I care about magic? I'm here against my will when I could be learning something else, something more interesting. What's something _you_ don't care about?"

Phillipa is astounded by the outburst, but perhaps this is why he doesn't like speaking about his family. Trying to pick something quickly, she says, "I don't care for… irrigation."

"What if someone forced you to study that? What if there was no other choice?"

"I'd…." Phillipa feels her heart lurch as she thinks, _I would be extremely unhappy._

"I'm sorry. I know you think I'm good at magic." Maddox shrugs, "I wish I could throw down my staff and just pretend to be somebody else. Templars all complain about how terrible magic is. Hey there, Templars! I don't _want_ it. Honestly I wish after a Harrowing I could leave and disappear into the ordinariness of society with you. That would motivate me to get it done."

"I… I think Orsino would understand if you talked to him," Phillipa says, trying not to deviate from the purpose of the discussion. "He has spoken to many mages. He knows how it is difficult."

Maddox sighs. "I'll think about it a few more times, but I don't want to argue anymore."

In silence the mage appears to be pondering something and then he steps forward and hugs her.

"I need to say this, regardless of what your answer is. Consider it more than once." He pauses, "Do you want to elope? Properly? We can change our names, go into hiding. The Fade can be real."

Her immediate thought, to her own surprise, is _no_. It held appeal in theory and nothing more.

Phillipa tightens the grip around his shoulders. "Maddox, I love you but…"

"You can't," he finishes her thoughts for her, "it's because of your friends and family?"

She nods, though she knows it isn't that simple either. "What life would that be? We're already hiding; running away entirely would make it worse. If we're going to really be free, we must be patient and wait for the Circle to change."

Maddox reaches for her hands. "But… Phillipa." He sounds agonized, "That could be after our lifetimes. It isn't fair to pin all your hopes on that."

Phillipa bends her knees slightly to kiss his forehead. "I want to be with you. I'll wait forever, if that's what it takes. I _accepted_ your proposal. I was willing to take this duty," she whispers. She trails her fingers down his neck, "The Maker knows we are not supposed to be lonely. He saw our wedding, even if no one else did. Perhaps you were unable to think about how…" Feeling embarrassed, she brings her lips to his neck and plants a few kisses on it. "If you had never heard of me or spoken to me, how would you see the Circle?"

Maddox's eyebrows create the smallest line in the middle of his head, and he looks beyond her at the wall. "I've never had much belief in the Circle to start but… I didn't realize until Sileas finished her Harrowing just how important she was, and in contrast, how little the Gallows meant. I'm not trying to sound melodramatic. We weren't in love and it wasn't just her. She was the last of my close friends to finish her Harrowing. Suddenly, I was back at the beginning, like I'd been brought here away from my parents. It was all weird and unfamiliar. I felt… it felt like life didn't mean anything, aimless. It was incredibly strange how the Gallows lost all meaning. The first conclusion I had was _– I think I'm possessed_ , but Chandler assured me I was only imagining it. I knew I had to change something or I wouldn't be able to stand being here." He pauses, and his eyes became distant, "I didn't know what I was doing. Since Sileas used to gush about how nice you were I thought you might be a good place to start looking on how to rebuild… whatever it was." He paces, "but something else bothered me too when I started getting closer to other mages. I didn't want to repeat the same story over again. I wanted to make _progress_ … You made me feel unstuck, whatever that means." The mage's eyes fill with tears, but he blinks them away. "Orsino's going to tell me I did something irresponsible. That's obvious. I started this. I am perfectly aware of the gigantic risk I took and I broke the rules for my own desire to find something."

Maddox steps toward her and held her hands. "He's going to want to know why, and I don't think he wants to hear my excuses. I know without a doubt approaching you was the most worthwhile, smartest, irresponsible decision I've ever made. I could get a glimpse of what being outside the Circle was like and now I don't want to go back to the alternative. I don't think the First Enchanter can understand that."

Phillipa is overcome he has explained all of this to her. His sentiment of feeling immovable and life losing its importance holds true for her… but only since she started travelling to the Fade, and wishing her life could reflect that freedom. To think he has managed her struggles for so much longer than she has is terrible. Their relationship makes Phillipa feel confined, but Maddox experiences glimpses of freedom with her. Over time their lives have morphed into that of the other.

She leans in to kiss her lover before he can continue. "Do not worry." She runs a hand down his chest. "I am your responsible half."

Maddox gives a small grin. "That's where it's been all this time!"

Equally intrigued by her, his touch traces her jaw, her lips and the clarity of the moment is astounding. Connection is the only satisfaction, and the merging of their minds must continue.

"Maddox," her words are hushed, "Would you talk to the First Enchanter for me?"

"You're so self-assured…" Maddox stops. "Again, sorry, I know you mean well, but I don't see the point. Can't you understand that?"

His eyes are wide, praying to accept the gravity of his affliction. Despite knowing, she still wants to keep trying to improve it.

Phillipa brushes the back of her hand against his face.

"I do see why it would be more challenging for you to speak to him than me," she admits, "I grasp how isolation feels since knowing you. It is not pleasant although it has been enlightening in respects. I can now say I know your sadness. Perhaps I do not think it is pointless. I have a belief in Orsino's good will. Punishment is not his goal, my forever."

"He's perfectly capable of it," Maddox mentions, "He doesn't like me. I'm only trouble in his eyes. I don't think he's going to be as patient as you think. Go ahead and tell him that if you want. I don't want to talk about it anymore."

Phillipa doesn't want to talk about it either. It is too distressing. She kisses him again, and the need to be close builds ever stronger. He tries not to look at her. The woman wonders if she should express her wishes as they appear in her head. Openness is safety. She can pretend that this is the truth of this realm, not just the Fade.

"I want you to take me," she murmurs.

"But your vow," he mutters, looking shocked.

"The Maker knows I fulfilled my vow," she says it calmly. She has thought about it a lot and it is easier to accept, "I took a potion. It will be fine."

The mage's eyes lighten, impressed with her judiciousness, then he grins. "I _do_ like talking," he holds the sides of her hips, "though I do like being gentle with you too."

She gives a coy smile. "You don't have to be so gentle with me."

He kisses her. "Maybe I won't."

It isn't like the Fade, no, it is foolish to think it would be, but the change is not unpleasant. The only cruelty is the floor, cold and smooth as ice, though their bodies press close for warmth.

In the rising heat Maddox, his form is barely visible in the flicker of the dying torch, mutters, "Angel, I hate that I love you. But I do love you."

Phillipa alters the way that she positions her hips from on top of him. She halts for a moment to cradle his head in her hands. "I love that I love you. But I do hate that we have to wait for our freedom."

"Stop talking about freedom," Maddox murmurs, letting his arms go limp against the stone tiles, "You're the closest I've ever been to it."

His words are so soft and so saccharine it is impossible to refute them. She only lets their meaning soften her, too caught up in the moment to want to destroy it with serious edification. "I feel very free right now."

"Only of your clothes," Maddox says.

"Not only that." Phillipa positions herself upright and bucks her hips so slowly it is almost silent. "I feel peaceful, like I've done all I can do. The Maker has shown me mercy. I think it is okay for me to love you."

Finally. She does not have to fight with herself. No tension taunts her muscles or her mind.

"You made a foolish decision to approach me but you are allowed to love me too," she intones, after Maddox does not answer. Once his body is spent her lover tries all he can not to shed a few tears. While Phillipa prays they are joyful tears, deep down, somewhere hurting, she knows they are bittersweet.

* * *

In her spare time, instead of visiting Zoe's family or her father, Phillipa strolls into the Chantry in an ordinary dress. Finding a place among the visitors and closing her eyes, she prays, _Maker, please grant me the patience to stay in the present moment and keep track of time. Please help Maddox with his Harrowing, and make sure he does it soon._

Even if the world feels like a different place than before, Phillipa remains hopeful. Maddox's and hers relationship has sustained itself for a long while. Orsino seemed amazed considering its nature, and they hadn't been caught so far. She hopes they are the exception to the rule. They'd have to keep being careful, and it would be fine.

* * *

They do not practice fighting demons anymore so there is not much guidance that can be offered, though she tries. Phillipa asks Ser Chandler how he manages his charges one time in the library.

"I remind them to concentrate." Chandler says, "Works most of the time. Doesn't matter how many times I tell _one_ of them."

He gives her a knowing look, and they both understand who the topic of conversation is.

Phillipa finds she isn't sure how to help either. There truly is no more than can be done if Maddox finds it so difficult to concentrate, "Very well. I apologize for overstepping my bounds."

"You weren't," Chandler shot back, somewhat angry, "I find that one impossible sometimes. It isn't just me, either. He's been moved to loads of Templars over the years, trying to see if the change would help. I'm his eight, not counting sick leave and the like. I don't have the slightest idea what's wrong with him. It's like after a certain point he stops caring."

Phillipa doesn't answer this directly. Her hope is that a solution can be found.

"I hope something can be managed, brother," she says, trying to indicate a rapport, "What does the First Enchanter think?"

"He's pissed off too," Chandler mentions, "Everyone's getting really sick to death of dealing with _him_ and his concentration problem. Meredith told me this happens with some mages. _Invalids_ , she said. Doesn't matter what you do- they stay apprentices beyond the age they're expected to finish their Harrowing at. I'm pretty close to ask him to be moved too. I keep lashing out and Orsino told me off for it. I'm down to my last warning before he asks Meredith for another switch."

Phillipa recalls the story about the First Enchanter's friend who killed herself and feels her insides squirm with discomfort. Perhaps the reason Orsino finds Maddox frustrating is because he is reminded of his old friend and is fearful for him. "I appreciate the time you've taken to talk to me, Chandler."

"You too, sister."

Though she notices Chandler's words are slightly oppressive.

* * *

The Maker is with her, for she finds she is able to remember what day it is again.

One of these morning sticks in her mind. At breakfast, she sits in a seat, her usual one. The hall is alive with the clatter of cutlery, armour and the chaos of people trying to wake up and face the day. They all have various breakfast food in front of them. Phillipa has bread on one plate and fruit with a vanilla and peach syrup in a small bowl. Zoe joins her on the right. Samson sits directly in front of her and Cullen is in front of Zoe.

It is like any other morning.

Cullen sips at his coffee, eating much of the same as her. "I hope you all had a good sleep."

Samson groans. "Woulda been better if I didn't wake up in the middle of the night. Some lads at the end of the corridor decided to get pissed. Fuck, they were noisy."

Even if it is not like every other morning for everyone.

"Really?" Cullen appears slightly embarrassed, "I am surprised I did not wake at the same moment, brother."

"Better you didn't," Samson says, "I went up to them, offered to take the empty bottles, walked to the dock and threw them into the ocean outside. Maybe the fish will like it and make decorations for their favorite places."

"I don't think there are any _living_ fish in our end of the harbour," Cullen says with a small snigger. Phillipa smiles at the joke, at the thought of fish making houses out of glass.

"Yeah, it's far too foul. They'd all die," Zoe chirps, joining in, "Besides, I'm not sure fish like alcohol with spit in it."

"Of course they do. Fish inhale spit and plenty of other _fluids_." Samson takes a large gulp of his drink, while his gaze is briefly fixated on Zoe, "How did you sleep, girls?"

He directs the question at Phillipa, so she answers first. "Well, thank you."

She dreams of Maddox still, though she is finding them harder to recall each time they happen. Sleep these days is restful.

"I slept amazingly," Zoe says. There is lightness to her tone. "I had a dream that I was sneaking around Meredith's office as a spy and then I ended up finding Ser Zach – and he said 'You need to run or my wife will catch you' and I asked if his wife was Meredith, and then… I guess the dream got very inappropriate."

Phillipa recalls Ser Zachariah as one of the trainers from when Zoe and her were learning to be Templars. She remembers that Zoe was happier those four days a week when Ser Zach was instructing them. Phillipa first witnessed infatuation as a girl in another person, in Zoe, and she recalls finding it plain bizarre.

"What kind of dream was that?" Cullen scoffs, nearly spitting out his coffee, "Maker preserve you, Zoe. I hope Meredith wasn't in the inappropriate parts."

"No way!" Zoe reassures him, "Meredith had died. Someone poisoned her during a fancy dress party."

Appreciative chuckles spread around the table.

Samson, like usual, silently watches Zoe talk with an expression on his face like he is either completely absent in thought or overwhelmed with ideas. He takes a bite of his food, reaches across the table and grabs Zoe's spoon at a moment she sips her orange juice.

"Hey, let me get you a new one of these," he says, waving the spoon in front of his eyes as though it is something she shouldn't have been using.

Zoe cocks her head sideways, "But that's my spoon."

Cullen looks exasperated, "Yes Samson, why are you stealing her spoon? She's already been eating with it for Maker's sake."

"It was dirty," Samson assures him, "Cullen can't see straight yet until he's finished his coffee, and neither can you, pretty Zoe, because you aren't done with your orange juice. Those drinks can't be trusted."

Phillipa sighs. This is not the first time Samson has done something strange at the dining hall table. At such moments it is best to go along with it. "I think that's thoughtful of you, Samson." then she adds to Cullen, "just let him get my sister a new spoon."

Zoe appears mortified. "But I'll miss it. I liked that spoon."

Samson gets out of his chair. "Don't worry, beautiful. The spoon will come back."

He leaves. Cullen lets his posture slump and he eats some more food. "Maker. Not at this time of morning."

He is most likely referring to Samson's eccentricities. Sometimes Samson does so because he is trying to grasp Zoe's attention. Phillipa helps him when she can, as her roommate is so obstinate when it comes to that man.

Phillipa turns to Zoe, hoping Cullen will calm down. "Did you wear a fancy dress in your dream?"

"No, not in that one…" Zoe says slowly. She looks thoughtful. "Actually, I don't know what I was wearing exactly."

"It is unusual Ser Zachariah was in your dream, sister," Phillipa says, "You haven't mentioned him for years and years."

Zoe smiles and leans back in her chair. "Yeah, suppose not." There is something flashing in her eyes, "I saw him a few weeks ago at the Chantry with my brothers though. He's still as amazing as ever."

"For what it is worth I am pleased I had male instructors at Kinloch Hold," Cullen interjects, "I don't think any of the boys would have been able to concentrate otherwise."

"I bet not," Zoe agrees, "I mean, it's a good thing that there aren't too many girls here too, right?"

"Women were only a quarter of the Templars in Fereldan," Cullen proposes, "it is less so here."

Samson returns with a shrewd expression and a spoon in his hand. He moves to Zoe's end of the table and places it exactly where she left it.

"Found a nice one for you," he mentions, "The other one is resting now with the Maker."

"The spoons are all the bloody same!" Cullen's voice is either too loud or two quiet, the tone is quiet bizarre, half way between a whisper and an exclamation.

The other two are not listening, or didn't even hear.

Zoe picks up the new spoon and examines it curiously. "I don't know, but maybe I liked the mess on the old one. I mean, I'd been eating with it already like Cullen said. Now I have to taste the metal weirdness for the second time in one morning."

"Mess this one up then," Samson assures her. With a half-charming smile he adds, "I wouldn't want you to get sick."

Zoe catches the man's eye and grins, "Maybe I will, but only because you made all the effort."

"Yeah, uh…" he pauses, looking over the top of her head, keeping composed. "It's not that much effort."

"Thank you, even if it was crazy and pointless," Zoe replies, and the shortness of her tone does not match her eyes. They are enraptured. "So Cullen, what were you saying before I got my pretty, marvellous spoon back?"

Cullen is more than happy to lead the conversation away from the topic of spoons.

Phillipa smiles as Cullen continues and Samson resumes his place in the chair. She is reassured that once Maddox has passed his Harrowing she could tell Zoe, Cullen and Samson everything. The Maker knows she won't be alone. She only has to pray for patience.

That morning lingers in her mind for a different reason than it being enjoyable. All the discussions with her friends are joyful. This one is no more, no less than any other, but an enchanting preciousness remains about it…

Except it doesn't stay pleasant in her memory. The ordinariness and bliss of life is fleeting, though Phillipa doesn't realize as she departs to her charges that this is no ordinary day. She is ignorant that Maddox would neglect his final opportunity to speak to Orsino.

Phillipa Evitt refers on the conversation later for the purpose of chasing the past. She revels in it because it is the last time all four of them would be present at the breakfast table.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. My previous beta got too busy to help, so many thanks to JayRain for the beta of this chapter. 
> 
> These last two chapters are the first two of Samson's Shield of Shame from Phillipa's POV. :-) 
> 
> Please R&R.

_“We held the Fade_

_And the demon's flight_

_So far from our children_

_And from our lives._

_We held together_

_The fragile sky_

_To keep our way of life.", Once We Were_

Zoe reads a romance novel by candlelight; one Phillipa could not read past chapter two, though her roommate finds it amusing.

“It’s so rubbish,” she remarks, “They’d never be so terrible to each other and get away with it in public. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“I don’t think realism was the point of the book, sister,” Phillipa replies sleepily.

As Phillipa closes her eyes she finds comfort in the dark of her room and warmth of the covers. With their stomachs full and in their night wear, it makes for all the ingredients for a pleasant night. Despite not being able to enter the Fade and the melancholy surrounding that, her life is pleasant enough to survive while letters are being moved across the Gallows.

Both girls flinch at the sudden knock at the door. The shock turns to consternation as the rapping drones on and on like the pounding of a hammer. If Samson passes a letter, it is always three knocks, the same rhythm; not this. Phillipa ponders on who else it could be, but nothing comes to mind. Still, tormented by culpability of her wrongdoings, she can’t help but assume the darkest outcome.

_Please don’t let it be Samson._

"What in the name of Andraste inspired someone to wreck this moment for me?” Zoe lets out a heavy sigh as she drops novel from her hands into the bedside drawer. “I’ll get it.”

Attempting to clear her mind, Phillipa focuses on sleeping, and hopes this is a joke. The door rattles on its hinges as Zoe’s footsteps cross the floor. 

With a familiar click the door opens and silence falls. The pause is unusual, almost like there is no visitor, and then a familiar voice, yet muffled from this distance, helps identify who is on the other side of the door. "Get the less pretty one."

 _Samson?_ Phillipa’s heart pounds and she is not reassured. _No, what does he want? His doorknock was different! That is…._

Zoe doesn’t discern anything wrong. Of course she wouldn’t. She laughs. "Whatever you say, you naughty spruce."

 _Please don’t be anything bad,_ Phillipa pleads into her pillow, not wanting to leave her bed. _Please don’t be anything bad. Please let it be something stupid like about Cullen or Zoe…. Please don’t let it be…._

Zoe shakes her shoulder and whispers, “Sister, the mailman is here to chat.”

Phillipa heaves herself out of bed, fearing what the urgency of the knocking means. But she knows from the knock, it is either something unusual or something incredibly bad indeed.

 _Please don’t let it be anything bad,_ she thinks, _please don’t let it be anything bad. Please don’t let it be anything bad…._

As she approaches the door she takes deep breaths, her vision hazy and her body limp from tiredness. Not desiring to sound anxious, her words underscore anger. "What's so urgent you had to…” Phillipa mutters and she is shocked by Samson’s expression. It is stoic, but not in the way he usually does around Zoe. Sweat gleams on his temples and a vein in his neck pulses. “Are you alright?"

"He was flirting with me again, the sweet talker." Zoe giggles.

 _Why now?_ Phillipa thinks, bewildered. Zoe does this occasionally with Samson, but Phillipa never considers her roommate’s cajoling serious. After all, if Zoe likes someone, she makes it very obvious because she discusses how to seduce them.

"I can't help it when you're pretty," Samson responds to Zoe, and he hits his hand against the wall, cringing at the pain.

 _Could the two of you leave your antics for another time?_ Phillipa thinks scornfully. Usually she is supportive of the two of them, as they are dear to her, but with the urgency of the situation, she wishes for their ridiculousness to stop.

The man’s gaze returns to Phillipa. "Meredith wants to talk to you.” This in itself is not necessarily unfortunate news, but the air of unease and the next set of words convinces Phillipa it is something to be worried about. “It's about the letters."

Her feelings and thoughts crash down on her so fast it is impossible to tell which one happens first. From the sounds of it only Meredith was involved, not Orsino. Unpredictability is all that lies before her. She remembers what Meredith said about not accepting any excuses. It is difficult to see a means to avoid the confrontation.

Perhaps she would prefer Zoe and Samson’s silly flirtations after all.

"Oh, curses," Phillipa swears, and she tries to be rid of the stiffness in her shoulder. "Should I just end my life quickly to spare the torture?" 

This is an extreme notion, even for her, but tonight, truly, death is tempting. She half wonders if she can find Maddox and run into the Fade a final time.

But she swore to Orsino she wouldn’t, and she can’t abandon her friends and family so easily.

"I'd go,” Samson recommends, though he looks uneasy. “I've already lied. Just… say you were trying to get rid of him."

"But that…" Philipa shudders. Out of all the lies to tell, that is not a clever one. "I'll think of something."

Lying would only dig her further into trouble.

_There must be a means to manage this… how? Maker. Where have my words gone?_

"I hope so," Samson says, his voice trembling. It has never shaken before. "The quicker you get there, the better."

This cannot be happening. This isn’t happening.

"I… this is too much… I really hope…." Overcome with emotion, confusion at all her months of sneaking around possibly coming to a close, she grips Samson’s hand and gazes desperately into his grey eyes, unsure whether to say ‘thank you’, ‘sorry’ or ‘help me’. If there is a way to encapsulate all three in one word, she would say it.

The Chant. It can provide her with guidance. Taking a breath she recites, " _Let my cries touch their hearts. Let mine be the last sacrifice_."

How wrong and disingenuous – those are not words of inspiration, they are simply a reflection of her anguish, the desire to have this be the last hurdle before… her demise.

It is foolish to wait. Samson is worried, and she trusts his opinion. She must leave, and think of ideas on the way.

Attempting to remember the way to Meredith’s office, she exhales and walks out of her quarters. Forgetting Samson and Zoe behind her, trying to think of what to say, she recalls the Chant again.

 _"Heart that is broken, beats still unceasing,”_ the blonde mutters under her breath, _“An ocean of sorrow does nobody drown.”_

It is her mantra, her favourite lines. _"Heart that is broken, beats still unceasing. An ocean of sorrow does nobody drown.”_

Believing them with all her might, the strength of the words do not beat down her anxiety.

So she decides to change the last part _, “Knight Commander, you have forgotten. Within His creation, none are alone."_

Down the steps, she whispers to the night, " _Heart that is broken, beats still unceasing...”_

And when her bare feet meet the bottom of the stairs: “ _An ocean of sorrow does nobody drown.”_

Then down and around the vast emptiness of the Gallows, she says, _“Knight Commander, you have forgotten. Within His creation, none are alone."_

The Knight Commander’s office door is already open when Phillipa approaches. The leader of the Templars is standing by the handle, not proud.

“Ser Phillipa,” Meredith says, and she smiles wearily, “I confess I am pleased. I was fretful you would delay our meeting. Please take a seat. Maddox and Orsino will not be long.”

Phillipa feels afraid. Maddox couldn’t get away from Orsino. Maybe he’d help Maddox get away!

Her emotions asphyxiate her in the struggle.

 _Please, please, let it be true, Maker!_ She begs inside, _Maddox, run away!_

The Knight Commander holds the door open, still appearing pleasant. Phillipa isn’t surprised. Meredith always smiles for her, because Phillipa is well behaved. Yet, the smile is like those of demons from the Fade. The kindness doesn’t meet Meredith’s eyes. It is dangerous to trust it. She refuses to.

“Should I retrieve a blanket?” the Knight Commander asks, simply. “They are not difficult to uncover. If you so desire, I may grant you this kindness.”

 _Meredith thinks I am cold_ , Phillipa realizes, _if only that were the truth._

“Do not concern yourself for my welfare, Knight Commander,” she replies, though her voice is weak. “I am merely… deep in thought.”

This is neither a lie or terribly specific.

“I see.” Meredith tries to make more room in the doorway. “I trust your thoughts are more coherent somewhere warmer?”

 _Yes…_ Phillipa agrees internally, _like Maddox’s arms._

“That is true,” she says, plodding forward to the office, though she feels like a ghost, not a person. “Have you enjoyed your evening, Meredith?”

_Please, please, Maker, let Maddox run away! Orsino agrees, the Maker doesn’t want us to be alone._

She hears the door shut behind her as the Knight Commander moves behind her desk. Phillipa feels a knot in her stomach. It has never been this strong around her superior. It is terror. This must be what all her brothers and sisters felt. The walls she is so familiar with, that bring her comfort when organizing charges, are specious and threatening now.

“It has been more vexing than most,” Meredith says, rummaging some papers together. “It would have been more successful if Samson had not told me you were associating with a mage.” She pauses, and looks up from the desk with a hint of distrust. “Maddox?”

 _Sweet blood of Andraste, how much did Samson tell her?_ Phillipa thinks in a panic. _What did he lie about? What was the lie? Maker, why did I leave so soon? Dear gracious Maker, help me!_

Samson didn’t think of mentioning it. Possibly, he is not thinking properly either.

Curses!

She sits down onto Meredith’s chair. Involuntarily, her teeth chatter and her legs shake, “I’m s-s-s-orry to h-h-hear that K-Knight Comman-d-d-der Meredith.”

The Knight Commander frowns. “It is not so cold in here, Ser Phillipa.”

 _I feel so in my heart,_ she thinks solemnly, _and in my stomach, from fear of you._

Maker, she is lucky to not understand the terror of Meredith until now. How desperately she wants it to go away.

“N-N-no, K-K-Knight C-Commander Meredith,” she gulps, “Please excuse me.”

This is far too obvious. It needs to stop. Though her arms and legs continue to shake, no matter how much she tries to calm herself.

Meredith brings her fingers together. “While we wait, there are questions I’d like answers to,” she says, “if you allow it?”

 _No,_ Phillipa thinks, and she almost blurts it out. The confusion makes her spit out gibberish, though she turns it into a cough.

“P-P-Pardon me,” her voice goes unnaturally high pitched, “Ask as m-many questions as you desire, Meredith.”

 _Curses, curses, curses!_ She shouts in her head, _I am too well behaved! How I want to rip her apart already!_

Though she knows she can’t. This is mostly all habit, a good habit, and even this dire situation can’t break it.

Already she knows Meredith suspects she has done something wrong. The Knight Commander’s eyebrows tighten together and she frowns.

 _No!_ Phillipa’s knuckles go white against the chair, _not a frown! No! No! No!_

“I would like to make it clear to you, that the more you do not evade my questions with more questions, or avoid them entirely, you may be given mercy,” she says briskly. “Honesty will reward you, Ser Phillipa… even more so in these circumstances.”

 _What circumstances?!_ She wants to scream, dying to know what her superior’s interpretation on the situation is.

Phillipa wants to know where Orsino and Maddox are. Perhaps they could work together to get out of this.

“Of course, Knight C-Commander.” She bows her head. “I do not intend to be dishonest.”

Her bones freeze with trepidation at the animosity in the Knight Commander’s eyes.

“There are an unlikely few who _intend_ to be dishonest, Ser Phillipa,” she snaps and Phillipa feels her heart pound so hard it might split her head open. “Until their loyalty for another overcomes them, and I have no care for that standard of behaviour in this Circle.”

This is true. Samson had already been dishonest for her. Such a loyal friend…Would Phillipa lie for Maddox? She isn’t sure. 

_Where are Orsino and Maddox?! Curses, Maker, help me!_

“I must verify the information I have been provided with thus far,” Meredith says matter of factly. “Samson so graciously informed me that you have been in contact with Maddox. Are you aware of what I speak?”

Phillipa blushes as she replies, though she doesn’t take her eyes off her superior. “Yes, Knight Commander.”

“He explained the two of you have been in written correspondence?”

As obedient as she has always been, Phillipa replies, “That is correct.”

 _Shut up!_ She tells herself, _Stop telling her everything! Stall her! Do something!_

The questions suddenly change. “How did you become acquainted with Maddox? I do not believe you are in close association with Ser Chandler?”

“No, madam.” Phillipa tries to keep sitting up straight, “The mage you speak of…”

_He carried books on his head._

She knows how stupid it sounds. “It is a silly story.”

“I have little doubt of that.” Meredith is unable to hold back her frustration. “You have already confessed to being in contact with a mage. That in the first place, is foolish, though I demand an answer to my question, young lady.”

No Ser Phillipa anymore, but ‘Young lady’. Condescension. Inhaling fully, she recalls the Chant again to be able to think.

_Heart that is broken, beats still unceasing. An ocean of sorrow does nobody drown._

_Maddox and Orsino are coming. The First Enchanter would be kind. He will do his very best to defend us. Be calm._

She tries to remember the story of Maddox again, and it is extremely easy to do so. The details are bright, colourful and beautiful, a stark contrast to this office.

“It was the day I met my current charges, Meredith,” she recalls, “They were outside this very office and Maddox was speaking to them.”

The Knight Commander appears affronted. “That was almost ten months ago.”

Phillipa nods, though she hadn’t known the exact time it had been. “Yes, it was, madam.”

“Where is the First Enchanter?” Meredith snaps, and she looks at the entrance, irritated, “May you check the door, Ser Phillipa?”

“Of course.”

Nearly hyperventilating despite the desire to be calm, she opens the door slightly. There is empty space on the other side. Her unnerve augments. “There is still nobody there, Knight Commander.”

_Maker, help me. Where ARE they?_

“Very well. It is little consequence to me,” Meredith states. “I doubt this mage will be straightforward with his answers. It is far more effective to speak to you.”

 _He is very honest!_ Phillipa wants to yell, but she resists and sits back down in that terrible chair.

“How did these letters begin?” Meredith asks.

“Um…” Again, Phillipa has to repeat the Chant again in her head to be able to think. “He… wrote the first letter.”

“May you summarize the content of your letters?”

“They are too complex to summarize, Knight Commander.”

The Knight Commander grinds her teeth together. “That is deeply… concerning.”

“I-Is it?” she replies, rather pathetically.

“Yes.” Meredith’s answer is equally blunt. “It is.”

Phillipa feels her body shake again.

“Why are you trembling, young lady?”

Tears fill Phillipa’s eyes, and she finds she cannot think again. “What… I mean… I don’t know.”

“Are you cold?”

“N-n-no…” It isn’t just her body which shakes, but her vision starts to do so as well. “I, um… I don’t mean to shake.”

“ _Why are you shuddering_ , Ser Phillipa?” Meredith repeats, with more force.

“I don’t know!” Phillipa’s voice squeaks. “I… I am very intimidated by this meeting, Knight Commander. I beg you do not reprimand me.”

Meredith’s anger fades and she smiles instead, though it isn’t a pleasant smile. Phillipa doesn’t like this look much better. “Ah, but what reason do you have to be intimidated if you are abiding by the rules?”

Like with her initial confusion with the first number of letters passed, Phillipa’s mind ceases to function completely.

“I don’t know, Meredith! I swear! I… I can’t… I don’t _know_.”

The Knight Commander leans forward and removes a tear from Phillipa’s eye. “I think we will wait until Maddox and Orsino return. That is best. I must gather my own thoughts, as well. My goal is to retrieve truthfulness, not needless babbling.”

“I- I didn’t-”

“ _Cease your blabbing_ , Ser Phillipa.”

“Yes, madam.”

It is silent, and yet it is not. Phillipa’s head is full of noise, an incessant buzzing of high speed thought, zooming around in circles. She hears her own breathing as irregular and shallow.

_Think of the Chant. Think of the Chant._

Though she cannot…

Meredith continues to organize her desk, maybe preparing to retire to bed when the meeting is over. “How may I assist you with your…sense of intimidation?”

 _Don’t be vile_! Is what Phillipa wants to say, and it is the most callous thought she has ever had about anybody. She shocks herself with the thought, wonders where it came from.

“I don’t know,” she repeats, and tears fall down her face. “I want to go to bed. I don’t want to be here. I want… I…”

_I only want to cuddle with Maddox and forget about all this. I want him to be spared. I want to be spared too. Have mercy on us. We are not bad people._

“I apologize,” Meredith says, calmly. “It inconveniences me just as resolutely; I would much prefer to have this day end, though we shall wait. This is important.”

“I’m not normally like this, Knight Commander,” Phillipa urges, clutching her stomach. It feels ready to rupture.

“I am aware of this fact, Ser Phillipa,” her superior says. “That is what makes this case so urgent to resolve, what makes it concerning indeed. I suspect this mage has corrupted you, but we shall see. I am interested to hear what Maddox claims in his defence.”

 _If by corrupt you mean dazzle me with his charm and wits, then yes!_ Phillipa wishes to say, but she doesn’t. And it sounds as though Meredith has already made a decision on how to judge Maddox’s actions- that Phillipa is the victim and he is a predator.

In reality, Phillipa feels they are both victims to the unfortunate limitations of the Gallows. Or perhaps, yes, they are both predators. They have both done wrong. Too panicked, she allows Meredith to have her own thoughts about Maddox.

She rests her head on the desk and repeats the Chant incessantly until she is almost delirious with it. It is easy forget how time passes, as though this is the Fade.

The door opens.

“Knight Commander.” Orsino’s voice. “I regret retrieving Maddox was such a time consuming undertaking.”

He sounds annoyed too.

“I regret it as well,” Meredith’s voice is spiteful. “Please, sit down. Dare I ask why it squandered half an hour of time I could be spending in slumber?”

Phillipa wants to die as she hears the multiple footsteps enter the room, though she can’t bring herself to look around. She closes her eyes, ready to give up.

“Certainly.” The First Enchanter says, stern and heavy with weariness. “Maddox made a courageous and remarkable effort to escape the walls of the Gallows. I very much wish to describe that he hurdled over the bars, but we have no _fencing_.”

It almost sounds like a joke, but it is _not_ funny.

 _He was going to leave me here?!_ Phillipa thinks, mortified, though no other rationality enter her mind.

“Is that so?” Meredith’s voice is the definition of hatred. “Though you have bound him well, First Enchanter. Well done.”

_Well DONE?!_

Phillipa finally looks over and almost goes into a full blown panic attack all over again. The First Enchanter has burns on his arms and a bruise on his face, though he has a hand raised. Maddox is half levitating in the air, his arms twisted behind him, also covered in minor injuries. He is silent and his expression is solemn and staid.

“I thought you could use the extra time to get ready, Knight Commander,” Maddox remarks, his tone a strange one of vile amusement.

“Maddox!” the First Enchanter hisses, though Phillipa hears it, “Cooperate, should you wish to see daylight with your own eyes again.”

Maddox sighs very obviously, not hiding the fact he is irritated. Phillipa has never seen him like this.

Nobody seems to be behaving as usual tonight, except Meredith.

“Keep him there, Orsino,” Meredith says, and she stands from her seat, a hand on her hip. “I would like to keep this brief. I have no patience for any more games. My suspicions are on you, Maddox. Phillipa tells me you approached _her_ , that you started this whole letter complication.” She pauses. “Do you have anything to add?”

Phillipa is too horrified to be able to speak, though her eyes are on Maddox. He is immobilized by the spell and can’t look at her, or perhaps, he just doesn’t want to.

“I do have information to add, Meredith,” Maddox begins, and the First Enchanter hisses something in his ear, this time inaudible to everybody but him.

“I am waiting.” The Knight Commander crosses her arms.

The mage looks like he is thinking about it. “Ser Phillipa is not to blame for any of this.”

 _That… is not entirely true…_ Phillipa wants to defend herself, but she also doesn’t want to be interrogated again, though she can’t decide which part of this she hates more.

“Are you capable of describing the nature of your… interactions?” Meredith picks the words carefully, though they drip with hatred.

Desperate, Phillipa feels like she could beg on her knees and crawl like a helpless lamb, but she only stares at Orsino, unable to feel her hands or feet. He wouldn’t let anything happen… would he?

The First Enchanter’s gaze meets hers, his expression unreadable.

“Please, Knight Commander, you’re smarter than you look.” Maddox’s words drip with sarcasm. “Use your imagination. I’m sure it’s every detail of atrocious you imagine.”

“Do not provoke her, you reckless fool!” Orsino shouts at Maddox angrily, and he tightens the grip of the spell, just as Phillipa loses her voice completely and Meredith laughs.

“ _Please_? Are you trying to be polite, mage?” Meredith pulls out her sword in a swift movement and points it toward his neck. “I implore you: _elaborate_.”

Maddox watches Meredith in the eye and does not flinch from the weapon about to pierce his throat.

“ _What are you doing_?!” Phillipa shrieks at her lover. She covers her mouth, feeling immediately embarrassed by the outburst. 

“Promise you’ll leave Phillipa alone, and I’ll tell you what you want to know,” Maddox says more calmly.

“I will not promise anything at present,” Meredith snarls, “though she has been cooperative so far, aside for her incessant snivelling.”

Phillipa, feeling self-conscious, tries to wipe her eyes.

“Meredith, I urge you to see sense,” Orsino interrupts. “These young adults are under a lot of stress. Remove your weapon from sight. I am as exhausted as you are, but this is _not the proper manner_ to discourse with misbehaving pupils.”

“Maddox is _your_ pupil,” Meredith corrects steadily, but she lowers her sword and places it on the table. “Though, as he has been interfering with one of _my_ Templars and her ability to focus on her duties, the laws dictate I have a right to make the decision on what should be done about Maddox.”

“What is your idea of what should be done, Knight Commander?” Orsino sounds like he doesn’t care what her opinion is.

“That depends entirely on what your pupil says,” the Knight Commander announces. “Unless Phillipa would like to volunteer in his defence?”

For a moment, all three pairs of eyes look at her, but the only ones she cares about belong to Maddox. He still looks angry, yet there is also fear in his eyes.

Honesty. That will lead to a better outcome. There is no point lying.

“We…” she gulps, before starting again, “we were romantically involved, Meredith, but it did not interfere with my concentration to the extent it has tonight. Maddox…” she looks hopefully to Orsino. “I may be mistaken, but I believe he has been more well-mannered in recent months because of me? Is that not true, Orsino?”

_Please, say yes… Maker, preserve us all._

The First Enchanter appears startled. “It is somewhat true, yes. I have had to wrench him by the ear on fewer accounts, but neither has it all miraculously vanished. His behaviour right now is discouraging, given all his efforts.”

Surprisingly, the Knight Commander looks calmer. “It is reassuring that you found your voice eventually, Ser Phillipa, though I am disappointed you have such poor choice in… the object of your regard.”

Phillipa feels outraged. Unlike ever before, she bursts out in vitriol. "Who I choose to love is not your decision, Knight Commander, actions and expression of that love aside. Maddox is a reckless fool. The First Enchanter is right. Maker, even you are not entirely deluded, though he is also a kind person. He is an intelligent and talented young man who managed to outrun Orsino for half an hour that you could have spent sleeping!”

She didn’t mean to so angry. It came out that way of its own accord.

“You are an accomplished Templar, yet you choose to be foolhardy with a mage, somebody I deem immensely untrustworthy,” Meredith says. “I am intrigued… you sound almost deeply _enraptured_ by this clod, almost loyal enough to be dishonest.”

She turns back to Maddox again. “You mentioned you had details to add?”

There is a pause, but the mage appears calmer now, more certain than before. “Yes, I do.” His voice becomes more gentlemanly, the tone Phillipa is more familiar with. “She is not to blame for this because I started it, but not only that, I made her illogical. I made her act not herself. I wanted to learn about what made her so devout and faithful to the Circle, so I wrote her a letter, and she was nice enough to explain.” He takes a breath. “For that I am thankful, though my intentions were not entirely driven by intellect. I decided to pursue her romantically, and when she refused my advances I studied how to manipulate her.”

Phillipa had it half in her mind to stop him, but she is too shocked, and can only listen. What is he talking about? Most of it was true, but… manipulation? NO!

Yet the best lies are made up of truths, and this one has lots of truth, and very little lie.

“We wrote letters on every topic you can possibly imagine, and after a few attempts I successfully enraptured her, Knight Commander.” Maddox seems suddenly tempted to skip the rest of the story. “Phillipa’s right, I am quite talented with spells when I put my mind to it, and I used it to confuse her, because I was selfish, lonely and desperate for attention. And I made her love me as much as I loved her, she broke her chastity vow out of allegiance, and it wasn’t only one time, either.”

“That…” Phillipa begins, but she falls silent. Her mind is only a heartbeat, counting down to her end. She knows she had not been put under a spell – she is a Templar! 

 _Orsino_! She stares at him. _He must know it is a lie!_

“She’ll deny it,” Maddox adds, “but she’s lying, if she does.”

Even the First Enchanter didn’t speak, possibly having given up on the mage entirely. He brings a palm to his forehead, like he is in dire need of rest.

“Ser Phillipa,” Meredith turns to her, “Do you deny his claims?”

The Templar panics and considers the right thing to say, how to prevent them from enduring serious consequences.

_Did Orsino and Maddox plan something beforehand? Am I making it worse by being honest?_

It is too much.

Phillipa only splutters. “I… I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. Please spare me, Knight Commander, spare him! Even if it is true, it has not harmed me. I am perfectly fine! I like being enamoured with him, spell or not!”

The tears fall and there is only a heartbeat in her head. She wants to reach out for Maddox, but he is too tightly bound by a spell.

Meredith watches all of those in the room and sighs. “I tire of you, mage, and am equally disappointed in you, young lady, though you may go to bed. Shall you make this same mistake again, sympathy will be withheld. First Enchanter, please escort her to her quarters. Ser Phillipa, please inform Samson that he is to speak with me in the morning.”

The Knight Commander flicks her wrist and Phillipa is covered with silver light – a spell purge, though… as she suspects, it has no effect. She doesn’t feel any different. The words go in one ear and out the other.

Orsino snaps alert. “And Maddox? Why should I leave him under your care?”

“The only appropriate punishment for his ongoing disruption to the Circle and corrupting one of my Templars…” Her eyes flash. “The only punishment is to sever his connection to the Fade, and I entreat you do not have to witness such a calamity.”

“Tranquility?” Phillipa squeaks, as Orsino barks its longer name.

But the Fade – _their_ memories, his memories. What would destroying his connection to the Fade do to those?

Maddox doesn’t say anything. He gazes dead at the ground, like his emotions have already been stolen.

“I have no desire for another quarrel tonight,” Meredith hisses dangerously at Orsino. Her words are almost inaudible, sneaking through her gritted teeth, “Stop me and I will so thoroughly lodge my comments to have your status removed. Templars and mages are not permitted to be tangled in such relationships, and I know how inappropriately lenient you are on _your people_. I will be public about this, if you push me any further.”

The First Enchanter looks like he wants to argue still, but he growls and places a hand on Phillipa’s shoulder. “And you so superbly fail to think of _your_ own people, Knight Commander?”

“I _am_ thinking of her,” Meredith says, but Phillipa is staring at Maddox still.  “She will thank me when she no longer has to worry about this moronic mage and his exploits.”

Even though her heart yearns for Maddox, in that moment her voice acts on its own, but toward Meredith. “I WON’T!” Phillipa shouts, “I will never thank you for as long as I live!”

Meredith doesn’t respond. Perhaps there is no time to, though Phillipa remembers that face as though it lasted for an hour. It is an expression of anger and resentment. While looking, trying to absorb the meaning of the circumstances, she feels the force of someone nudge her to the door.

“We cannot do anything, Ser Phillipa,” Orsino mutters, “Leave. You must not traumatize yourself with this anymore.”

It happens too fast. Reluctantly, out of habit borne of compliance, she walks out, though her head is overwhelmed with all she wants to say, and what she cannot. Her eyes and ears don’t understand the weight of the tragedy, and Maddox is completely unresponsive. She wonders if he would have answered if she said goodbye, or an ‘I miss you already’. Or Maker forbid, ‘I love you’.

When the door closes, she stands still, blank and wide eyed. Orsino is seething, appearing as though he might break something.

“I so dearly wish to protest this injustice,” he mutters, “Oh, but this has been an extraordinary ordeal.” He pauses. “We must move away from her office. I pray not hear her callous words, or Maddox’s, if he chooses to fight.”

Briskly, the First Enchanter leads Phillipa away, pushing her along with a touch of magic, though the girl cannot speak or think anything. There is only Maddox, and tranquillity, and Meredith’s anger. It still does not seem as though it is happening.

When they reach the bottom of the staircase, Orsino puts both his hands on her shoulders. “I am severely absent in thought to describe this… _horror_ …” He appears sick by mentioning it. “You are not to blame, Ser Phillipa.”

She meets his eyes, and despite his worn expression, there is kindness in them. There are still no coherent thoughts. “What?”

Orsino groans. “Madness… please sleep, dear girl. We can manage the consequence of this monstrosity in the morning. I regret it had to happen in the first place.”

He waits for her, and after a moment she realizes one detail she did not understand.

“How _did_ it happen?” she asks, “How did she find out?”

The First Enchanter appears guilty and he tenses his jaw. “From what the Knight Commander explained to me, it was not _you_ who raised her suspicions.”

 _I wasn’t caught,_ Phillipa repeats it in her head, but it takes a while to register. If she did everything right then… someone must have not been as careful as she was.

“Who did?” she mumbles, almost too quiet to be audible. She finds it hard to look at Orsino then.

“It was Maddox,” the mage explains slowly, “and one of his –or your friends– Ser Samson, I believe?”

“Samson?” Still bewildered, her thoughts are sludge. “And Maddox… I… didn’t get caught.”

She is so numb she feels nothing else with this information – though she still doesn’t understand. Samson and Maddox are so dear to her. They’d kept hidden up until now. What changed?

“Meredith had seen the two talking a number of times over the past few months,” Orsino continues, “and my speculation is that she found them too well acquainted.”

“What?”

“I must go to bed, as so should you,” Orsino says, “though, Maker… do not blame yourself, Phillipa. I plead you receive sleep.”

“I… Samson and Maddox… they got caught and not me?”

“Dear child, _of course_ it was no fault of yours,” Orsino says quickly. “That Knight Commander… I see despite my best efforts you are disturbed. Where are your quarters?”

The First Enchanter accompanies Phillipa to her room, and she barely feels or knows where her feet are going. Slowly, she recalls the feelings from Meredith’s office, a flurry of anxiety, and at some point the emotion had left nothing but emptiness.

She remembers the lines from the Chant that helps her think, and repeats them while climbing the stairs.

" _Heart that is broken, beats still unceasing.”_ She pauses _. “An ocean of sorrow does nobody drown.”_

Her voice comes back, her thoughts come flooding back with the emotion, and her knees quake. Maddox is gone and there is no way to get him back. Samson is going to get in trouble now, probably because he’d lied.

She is not supposed to be alone, but she feels so completely abandoned right now, even if the First Enchanter is beside her.

The pain of the situation crushes her in a big wave. Maddox will never be the same again. They would never be the same again. Samson is in trouble. She covers her face in her hands and wails in injustice.

 “Knight Commander, you have forgotten. Within His creation, none are alone."

Orsino appears startles and puts an awkward hand on her shoulder. “Ser Phillipa, we are almost at the top of the stairs. Please, be resolute for your brothers, sisters and charges. You need to sleep.”

Unable to find words, her cries become something between a scream and a howl and she clutches her stomach. It hurts so much it burns!

In an incoherent spill she thinks she says it’s her fault all of this happened. Orsino tells her to move her left foot to the next step.

“He’s gone, and it’s my fault,” Phillipa sobs, her teeth chattering again. The sound echoes atrociously throughout the Gallows. “I could have stayed away but I didn’t.”

“I will not let Meredith live this down for weeks, or months. This is ludicrous,” Orsino curses to himself. “Move your right foot on this step, Phillipa.”

She is incomprehensible for the next three steps.

“Only two more, Ser Phillipa.” Orsino sounds exhausted.

“Why didn’t… you let… Maddox run …away?” Phillipa chokes.

“Dear girl, even I know that is where the line is drawn,” Orsino says. “As much as it agonized me to chase him, he would have been found by anybody with the Phylactery.I need to stay within these limits because I cannot hope to change the Circle for the better without my position as First Enchanter. I hope you understand.”

It makes sense, yet it isn’t fair that Meredith was so cruel to Orsino, either. She reaches the top of the steps and tries to calm her breathing.

Orsino squeezes her shoulder. “Which room is yours?”

The Templar watches her tears hit the stony ground. “I loved him.”

“I am well aware of that, dear girl.”

“Was that wrong?” she whimpers.

Orsino gently pats her back, though there is still a professional distance in the action. “You do not want to know my answer to that question.”

“Yes,” Phillipa finds her voice. She clutches onto the mage’s robes. “Please, tell me.”

The First Enchanter sighs. “I do not believe it was wrong, but here.” He grinds his teeth. “A different tale. In the Circle it feels like every miniscule expression of adoration is wrong, including yours, though it is the fault of this wretched place and its inflexibility. Where are your quarters?”

“No.” Phillipa shakes her head. “I can make it from here. I appreciate your honesty.”

“I do not think it is worthy of appreciation,” Orsino says, “but very well. As before, you are welcome to speak to me in my office if Meredith is too vile.”

“This place truly is wretched,” Phillipa says. “I… I want to go back to the Fade.”

“Then go to sleep,” Orsino sighs. “I forbid you from entering it voluntarily during your waking hours, even if… oh, by the light of the Maker!”

Before Phillipa can figure out what the First Enchanter is upset about, he storms away, down the stairs, every step loud. She waits until his footsteps are out of earshot before walking slowly to her quarters. This is wrong. All of this is terrible. She wants to blame the others, but she had known from the start this was a potential consequence.

As she forces open the door, she is not certain what she sees at first. By the remaining light, Zoe’s bed has two people lying in it. It is hard to see as they are under covers, but… the room has an edge of sweat and… bad things. Zoe is not talented enough to bring an arbitrary man inside. There is no doubt of whom the other person is.

Phillipa nearly trips over and stumbles into the room and decides the Maker could get stabbed in the eyeball.

"I should have guessed," she says. "Well, it might be best you don't get used to it. Meredith is furious. She says she wants to see you in the morning, Samson."

 _I know it’s you, Samson!_ Phillipa scornfully thinks to herself, _I know! I am the expert at hiding! Meredith didn’t catch me. She caught you and Maddox, because you are fatheads!_

"What does she want?" Sure enough, Samson looks up at her from the bed. "What happened with you?"

 _What happened with me?!_ she wants to scream, her brain breaking upon itself. _You dare say that! Like it doesn’t matter? Yes, it doesn’t, you were too busy doing your silly, dirty things with Zoe. What do you think happened?_

Despite the rage, she doesn’t swear, or insult or even yell. Phillipa covers her face and sobs out a similar story to the one she told Orsino. She recalls how she spoke in a rapid frenzy like she once had with Samson, though she feels a million feelings at once, and she isn’t even sure her words make any sense.

They don’t know the whole story. And they still don’t. Phillipa isn’t sure she’d ever tell them. She feels like the biggest dunce of them all.

Zoe and Samson show their own version of concern, which makes the First Enchanter’s professional distance seem incredibly warm in comparison.

***

When Samson leaves the room in his armor again, Zoe gives a shuddering sigh, “That was really fucking dreadful, wasn’t it?”

Maybe it was because of Samson that Phillipa had put up appearances, but this breaks her. She doesn’t care what comes out of her mouth anymore.  “Yes, it really was effing dreadful!”

Zoe steps closer, dumbstruck, though keeps a small distance between them. “I… don’t know what more to say.”

“I would very much appreciate an apology!”

“I’m sorry.” Zoe sounds honest. “Phillipa, what-”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Shaking, she crawls into her bed.  “I am so irritated with you right now! How could you _do_ that? What were you thinking?”

Phillipa lies under the covers, her ear on the pillow.

“Sister…You’re really not acting like yourself.” Her roommate doesn’t continue until she is in her bed too. “Are we going to fight about this?”

The words hit Phillipa like sand to the eyes.

By impulse she wants to shout back. She yearns to criticize and punch her pillow and scream, but fighting is not part of that desire, only to purge her soul. The questions of misunderstanding remain.

“I never want to fight.” Phillipa raises her voice, “I want to know why you-”

“Baggage alert, sister,” Zoe interrupts. “Right now you care about who I have in my bed. You never have before.”

This is true. Phillipa knows it as well. Making strained sounds like a puppy forced on its leash, she struggles to talk. “You- Did what happened with Meredith not concern you? Does the fact Samson is in trouble bother you?”

Zoe sighs into the darkness. “Yes.”

“Why did you do it?” Phillipa asks again. It is difficult to grasp why or how Zoe could be so spontaneous. The thought of going from barely a friend to sharing bodies seems incomprehensible.

“I was worried about you,” Zoe says softly, “and Samson… we started talking about you, and then he mentioned me, I asked why he was so persistent with his compliments-”

“Isn’t it obvious why, sister?” Phillipa critiques, wearily. While she is not sure if Samson’s feelings are genuine or surface level, it still means that Zoe is important to him somehow.

“No.” Zoe is certain about that. “His unending praise parade was different from all the other twats who do the same.”

“Yes, because like I’ve been saying, he is a kind person,” Phillipa says, “so what did he say?”

“That he wanted to kiss me.” Zoe sounds nervous recounting this. “I took that to mean he saw me in a romantic way. I told him we should be friends, and then… I said I wanted to bed him.”

“What?!” Phillipa doesn’t mean for it to be so loud, “How can you be friends and bed him at the same time?”

“I wasn’t thinking straight,” Zoe says, and she sounds tense, too. “I thought about how lonesome it would be if you weren’t my roommate anymore if Meredith said so, and Samson seemed happy to wait around for you to come back. And…you know I found him handsome, sister.  I don’t know. Maybe I did it to stop myself worrying.”

Phillipa is troubled how Samson would interpret this tryst. “Were there not other ways to stop worrying?”

Zoe doesn’t answer for a moment. “Probably.”

Phillipa still does not understand her roommate, though she gets the impression the discussion is distressing Zoe. “Was Samson caring to you?”

Again there is a pause. “I think so,” Zoe giggles, “if desperate and clumsy counts.”

“Oh, no,” Phillipa chortles as well, “clumsiness is a failing of his.”

She feels sad to think this is what had gotten her and Maddox caught, though she tries to focus on the conversation with Zoe instead. Perhaps there are other ways to figure out Zoe’s motives… and Samson’s.

“How did he kiss you?” Phillipa wonders.

“I wasn’t paying attention!” Zoe gives one of her charming laughs, “Andraste, I don’t have a clue.”

“Did you not kiss each other?”

“Yes, we did!” Zoe sounds amused by Phillipa’s assumption, “I swear you’re the _only_ one who cares about that. Why do you want to know?”

Phillipa desires to protect her sister, the same way Zoe had been always looking out for her, with bullies and even Maddox. She wants Samson to find somebody too, though maybe it is too late. There is no more time for love because it would disappear.

“What if he loves you and he couldn’t say it?” Phillipa demands, tears filing her eyes again. “What if he didn’t want you to leave, did his best and it wasn’t good enough? It made him careless, and that he will be taken away from you and destroyed?” With each word her voice becomes unintelligible, “And you won’t know why. There’ll be no explanation why. But you will look to the Maker for answers and his words feel hollow, but you still want to believe them anyway.”

The room is filled with her tears again and her throat is beyond wrecked at this point and ready to split. She is surprised there isn’t blood filing up her mouth.

“Sister…” Zoe waits for a break in the sobs. “I know you’re worried about me, but Samson and I are not the same as you and Maddox.”

“How do you know?” Phillipa demands, “You have no idea. He might be gone and you’ll never hear from him again.”

“I don’t love him,” Zoe says, and her voice is less muffled. “That’s a start.”

“How could you give your body to him if you didn’t?”

“I’m not sure. It is probably the craziest thing I’ve ever done,” Zoe admits reluctantly. “As he talked to me, I got a strong feeling, like an epiphany. And I _had_ to follow through on it. The idea of bedding Samson suddenly was… not weird or anything. I know it’s bollocks, but that’s the best way I can describe it.”

But the stories did not entirely match.

“You said he was clumsy.”

“Yeah.” Zoe moves around in her bed. “Not in a bad way.”

That makes sense to Phillipa. Perhaps Samson has a gentle feature in common with Maddox. It wasn’t fair he was gone.

Phillipa continues to cry and cry, spitting out the only words she can, “What now?” the words are strained, like she is trying to carry all of her armor above her head. “What…”

“Andraste’s tits!”

“What?”

“I forgot to mention…“ Her roommate’s voice is filled with dread. “With Samson, I… hadn’t taken anything. For _that_ , for…”

By the elusive language used, there is no doubt what Zoe is referring to. Phillipa remembers potions to minimize the chance of bearing child.

“You remember only now?” Phillipa gasps, unable to hide her shock. “Zoe, _no_!”

“I don’t want to fight about this!” Zoe gets out of her bed, as though suddenly repulsed by it. “Let’s stop talking. I’ll figure out what to do tomorrow.”

“Not _tomorrow_ ,” Phillipa groans, though it is barely heard over Zoe’s footsteps. Bewildered, she feels her roommate rest a hand on her shoulder.

“Can you make room?” she says, “I want to sleep, and I don’t think I will if I keep getting reminded of Samson.”

Too sad to protest, Phillipa moves closer to the wall, leaving a small space in the bed for Zoe, who snuggles up behind her. Their ankles collide. Zoe doesn’t smell of soap and shower like usual, but lingering body odour and fluids. The blonde recalls the one time she gave Samson a hug, and how he had scent of earth and the ocean. A miniscule imitation of this is on Zoe.

This night remains all too much. The Templar finally realizes that these consequences for Maddox are far reaching, and they will affect more than who and what she expected, in more diverse ways… and guilt comes with it.

Even though she is already crying, another wave of tears arrives and she buries her face in her drenched pillow.

“I’m sorry, my dear sister,” Zoe whispers, awkwardly touching Phillipa’s back with the little space there is to do so. “Whatever happens tomorrow, we will get through it. When Jerome changed his mind about me I felt I’d rather manage a Harrowing gone wrong, but you supported me. I’m going to be here for you no matter what, even if neither of us sleeps tonight.”

Phillipa is too distraught to thank the Maker for having such a wonderful companion. “You did something thoughtless…”

“I guess.”

“…yet you still deserve less judgment than I do,” Phillipa finishes.

“You were only in love.” Zoe’s voice is growing sleepy. “Not your fault, sister. No judgement from the Maker… you’re too hard on yourself. Big hug. Now shhhh… Sleep.”

The conversation ends though the tears do not stop. At one point, Phillipa wonders if out of sleep deprivation or confusion that Zoe let out a sniffle or two, or perhaps it is the reverberation of Phillipa’s melancholy.

Naught compares to the emptiness she discovers when she enters the world of dreams at dawn and Maddox is nowhere to be found.

Falling to her knees and curling up into a ball, she doesn’t want to see if there is still a ring on her finger.

She feels as if she cries in the Fade too.

 


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first long running Dragon Age story I have completed in two years. 
> 
> Many thanks to Winter Wren for her feedback and reading. If it wasn't for the delightful comments, I probably wouldn't have found it in me to finish this story. 
> 
> Also thank you to betas: Dehaxat and JayRain for helping with the final chapters. 
> 
> The beginning chapters have a number of punctuation errors, which I may go back and fix one day. At the moment their blaring existence will be a testament to how my writing has improved over time. 
> 
> If you enjoyed this story, this tale continues in Samson's Shield of Shame... Phillipa isn't in it as much, though she shows up from time to time. Samson becomes the main character. Zoe, Cullen and other OCs are explored more as characters. 
> 
> Please review if you haven't already. I'd love to know what you think.  
> Thanks for making it to the end of the story with me. I hope you have grown to be as fond as my characters as I have!
> 
> For music lovers here's a playlist for this story, taken from the songs mentioned throughout chapters.   
> In My Mind by Melody   
> Greensleeves (Youtube cover] by Eify  
> My Love is Like a Red Red Rose (Youtube cover] by Rachel Sermanni  
> Once we Were (Youtube cover] by Merrigan

Zoe’s yelp wakes Phillipa from sleep.

“Not…great…”

Struggling to open her eyes, Phillipa rolls around. Her roommate appears half way through a display of gymnastics. Her palms are on the floor, though her legs are at a very compromising angle indeed, exposing her upper thighs and the frill of her knickers.

There is barely a glimmer of light shining through the window, just as her heart holds little hope. Has one or two hours passed? Maker… did she feel it. Her body is so drained and heavy it is like she has not slept at all, or even that she has been awake for a week. A sense of unease and delirium hangs over her like a cloud, or one of the Chantry statues crushing her bones.

“Did you sleep?” Phillipa asks.

Zoe lets her legs clunk awkwardly onto the floor. “Kind of,” she says, “I’m going to get dressed and have a shower. It’s early enough not many will be there.”

Phillipa gazes at the slowly appearing horizon and realizes she had no desire to face the world. “Do I have to do anything today, Zoe?”

“You know you do.”

Zoe rises to her feet, walks to a large cabinet and takes out one of the small baskets to carry her towel and underclothes. “I’d rather sleep too. Wait for me to come back. We can go together.”

As her roommate finishes piling clean underclothes and the rest of her armor, slowly opens the door and it closes, Phillipa closes her eyes. Maddox… she doesn’t know how to feel about seeing him. It wouldn’t be the same.

 _“My broken heart beats unceasing,”_ she mutters to herself, poking one foot out from the covers. “ _yet this ocean of sorrow_ … Dear Maker, I wish I knew.”

She wants to change the last line to imply that she has forgotten the truth, but perhaps she hasn’t been right in the first place. Bracing herself for the cold, she retrieves her armor and clean underclothes from the wardrobe, doesn’t take her dose of lyrium and climbs back into bed.

Zoe returns, appearing calmer. Every day, she covers the scar above her eyebrow with powder, though this morning she does not bother. Phillipa wishes she could stay in bed, though she knows everything Zoe says is true. There is her duty to abide to.

“You don’t have to talk to him,” Zoe says quietly, “I don’t know if it will help, but if you want to, I can come with you.”

The blonde nods, unsure of what she wants. Finally, the couple are able to converse surrounded by others. It is no secret anymore, even if Maddox’s joy would forever be hidden, one tragedy replaced by another.

Zoe pulls the bed covers off Phillipa, though her expression is remorseful, one of a parent reluctantly carrying their child away from the edge of a river.

Phillipa isn’t sure she wants children anymore.

“Come on, sister.”

They have never taken so long to prepare for the day, though the light is not filling the room completely. By the time they reached the dining hall breakfast would almost be served.

* * *

 

As they walk out of their rooms, two women wait close by, fellow sister Templars who share the room next to Phillipa and Zoe’s.

June waves at the girls, holding her black plait like it is a paintbrush. “Morning.”

Because Phillipa is too morose to speak, Zoe says, “I didn’t know you went to breakfast this early.”  

Eloise’s smile doesn’t quite display her uneven teeth. “Only sometimes.”

It is an unwritten rule that in the morning there is no loitering, so the four continue walking down the corridor to the dining hall. It is eerie how empty it is, with barely had a lantern to light the area. Phillipa can only think she is grateful Orsino walked her up the stairs.

June’s voice lowers to a whisper. “Yes, uh, is everything alright?”

 _No,_ Phillipa thinks, though Zoe answers, “Hmm, we’ve had nicer mornings.”

“We don’t mean to be nosy,” Eloise chimes in, “but… we heard crying and yelling from your room last night and… uhh… it made it impossible to sleep for ages.”

“Though too chaotic to ask to keep quiet,” June adds.  

 “What… what happened?” Eloise questions.

Zoe turns to Phillipa, then to Eloise. “It’s a really dreadful and long story.”

“I knew it. See, Eloise,” June criticizes her roommate, “They don’t want to talk about it. You owe me.”

“Fair and square, sister.” Eloise appears slightly guilty.

The four of them are quiet. Phillipa gets the impression Eloise and June are hoping for a lot more detail.

“We apologize for disrupting your sleep,” Phillipa finally says, “though we are very tired.”

“We hope you are alright,” June discloses.

“So long as it doesn’t happen again,” Eloise says.

 _No need to concern yourselves,_ Phillipa thinks, _It will never happen again, because Samson and Maddox may never return to our rooms, much less the Gallows_. She turns away from the group so she can wipe her tears silently, though her breath becomes rigid. She can still hear the conversation perfectly.

“Zoe sister,” Eloise starts, her odd accent more obvious as she lowers her voice, “Was that _Samson_ in your room last night?”

It is abundantly clear that Zoe and Samson’s recklessness is no longer private.

Zoe sounds as if she gags from embarrassment. “The walls…”

“Don’t keep out much,” Eloise says, “at least once a certain level of volume has been reached.”

“He has a very distinct voice,” June adds.

Her roommate’s voice becomes small. “Andraste help me. I wasn’t even thinking about it.”

“That’s good though, right?” Eloise is happy to hear this, like she’s hit gossip jackpot, “Was he any good? Sounded like it.”

“Eloise, too much,” June counters, trying to help Zoe, “I mean, no judgement on you, sister, but honestly I didn’t think Samson was your _type_.”

“Samson is his own kind.” Eloise bursts into giggles.

Reticent, Phillipa only focuses on climbing down the stairs. In the dimness, it is almost like she is experiencing the previous night all over again. She does not demur in Zoe’s defence, lest the gossipers turned on her instead.

Zoe is struggling to find words. “That’s none of your… how do you know what my type is?”

Although reluctant, June admits, “Ser Jerome.”  

Zoe sounds annoyed now, “Can I not have a man in my bed without EVERYONE knowing about it?”

“Not if you do it in your quarters,” Eloise blurts out.  

“We won’t tell anybody,” June assures her.

“You really didn’t think that through, did you?”

Zoe groans, though it is the moan of someone with a fever who doesn’t care how deluded it sounds. “It’s none of your business.”

“Stop it, Eloise,” June jumps to Zoe’s defence again, “I’m sure Zoe wasn’t thinking about Samson’s general weirdness, but more his… looks?”

“That’s enough!” Zoe raises her voice, “Yeah, he’s odd. Maybe I did think about it! But I didn’t do it because of his appearance! Maker, I’m not that trivial!”

“Yes you are!” June and Eloise say it at the same time. The noise echoes.

Phillipa is still focusing on the steps. Knowing Zoe, those words would likely be reverberating in her head.

It isn’t precisely an insult, or news. Zoe is focused on the looks of other men, possibly because she herself is very good looking. Though, unlike some others, she does not openly insult or degrade others for their appearance. Her superficial attitude applies to boys and not girls.

 “You usually are, sister,” Phillipa chimes in, finally displaying her tear stained face.

Zoe appears completely and utterly betrayed. The green of her eyes lose some of their spark and her mouth hangs open. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Wow, Phillipa!” Eloise looks ready to fall over. “When did you become so outspoken?”

The anger that the Templar has been supressing abruptly reappeared.

“Do you not understand what it means to be quiet?” Phillipa retorts, “Please leave my sister alone! We are a unit and you are being incredibly invasive and rude with your questioning.”

From the looks of it, this was enough to permit Zoe’s forgiveness. Sadness bleaches from her expression.

As it is usually Zoe who defends Phillipa, their neighbours appear demoralized.

“We’re so sorry!” June apologize.

“Yeah, we… got overly excited,” Eloise admits, “just trying to keep up to date with recent events.”

The reply is rapid and painful as spitting embers. Zoe spins around, like preparing to cast a Holy Smite, hair flying out behind her.

“I’m not a fucking Chantry announcement board!” she shouts, her tone fiery, “Piss off! You don’t know what you’re fucking talking about!”

This is a shock to everybody.

Phillipa has never heard Zoe swear that many times in a sentence. Neither did she get angry in such a short space of time. Her insults are often well thought out and witty, with swearing used sparingly. She is the sort of person who is usually in control of her reactions.

Nearly as quickly, Zoe grasps Phillipa’s arm with incredible swiftness, “Let’s go.”

They take larger strides, and more frequent ones, to abscond from the other girls.

* * *

 

Breakfast is a quiet, almost meditative affair. Zoe eats her usual portion while Phillipa doesn’t. Their favourite table is a source of stability in the Gallows, so it is pleasantly familiar.  

The blonde remains undecided on what to do about Maddox. She has to keep watch on her charges today. If she is going to speak to him, she needs to do it before breakfast is over. It would be too humiliating and plain inappropriate to do so around the younger mages, and she would likely have to explain what happened to them.

Phillipa suspects that Zoe is deciding how to manage the possible after effects of her impulsive encounter with Samson. Even though she doesn’t say anything, her eyes say it all – _I don’t want everybody to find out._

“What are you scheduled to do today, sister?”

Zoe sighs. “I’m guarding out in the Courtyard until lunchtime, and then looking after my charges.”

“I see.” Phillipa sips some water, “I suppose there isn’t much free time in your day either?”

She hopes that Zoe understands what Phillipa is referring to. When will her roommate have a chance to investigate potions to prevent a possible pregnancy?

“There is at lunch time.”

“Will you skip the meal?”

Zoe nods, grimly.

“I can take some extra bread for you?” Phillipa suggests.

Her roommate smiles gratefully, as much of a thank you as Phillipa ever needs.

She leans forward and hisses. “You… did it with…” She raises her eyebrows. “Did _you_ use a potion?”

Phillipa gravely nods.

Zoe looks impressed. “I didn’t see it.”

“You were not _supposed_ to see, sister,” Phillipa replies, and before Zoe can ask another question she adds, “Look for the vendor in Hightown with five earrings in his left ear. He is often around or inside the Blooming Rose.”

Again, Zoe appears surprised. “You went to the Rose?”

Phillipa shrugs, not wanting to explain. “Goodness, sister, everybody goes there.”

Zoe gives a half laugh, like she doesn’t really want to laugh but she might as well try. “That brothel exercises responsibility passively, doesn’t it?”

Zoe gets to her feet, possibly to get some more breakfast. Phillipa gazes around at the many other Templars in the room and listens to the chatter and scraping of utensils on plates. Phillipa realizes that despite everything she doesn’t feel as isolated. That is an improvement. She doesn’t want to feel separated from her fellow Templars anymore. One day, she decided, she’d tell Zoe about Maddox. The parts of the story she’d kept hidden, and maybe then Zoe would tell her some more about Samson too.

When Zoe finishes swallowing fruit and appears uncomfortable, the crowd around them thickened. Some Templars are leaving, others are arriving. Glancing at the clock, they see that there is half an hour until they are expected to start working. Phillipa’s heartbeat lurches. Her eyes that couldn’t stop pouring with tears didn’t want to see Maddox, but the part of her that repeated the Chant’s words wanted to. There isn’t much time left.

She looks around to the entrance, indecisive, and sees someone familiar.

“Sister,” Phillipa tries to point him out, though Samson hasn’t seen them yet, heading to get food, “Look who it is.”

Zoe tries to look through the crowd, but he had already disappeared, “I don’t even know what to say to him.”

With a smile more fitting on an eight year old that is pretending to be a mystical creature, she bashfully pushes her bowl away. Phillipa recognizes this behaviour. Zoe did the same with Jerome, though Samson isn’t the same as Jerome. This behaviour is strange.

“Go back to yesterday morning,” she says, “How would you talk to him then?”

Zoe’s smile fades. “I don’t really talk _at_ him.”

“Imagine you were!”

Zoe settles on. “Flirtatiously treat him like a dense moron.”

“I don’t think we need any of that today.”

As Samson approaches with toast in his mouth – very impolite, Phillipa thought – she watches confused as Zoe runs her hands through her hair.

“How do I look?” her roommate asks.

“Why are you worrying about that?”

Zoe abandons her self-grooming. “I wasn’t.”

The blonde is impressed with Zoe’s self-assurance as Samson stops at the edge of the table.

"Samson," Phillipa realizes she might as well take over. There is only one reason that Samson wouldn’t sit down with them, and that was if he was in a hurry. "Are you on your way to Meredith's office?"

The man has dark rings under his eyes like the rest of them, and his hair is nearly as messed up as it had been after climbing out of Zoe’s bed the previous night. Perhaps he had run his fingers through it and nothing else. Balancing the food between his teeth as he managed to chew at the same time, he nods.

Zoe smiles in her enigmatic way to put up appearances– though Phillipa isn’t sure what her roommate is trying to hide.

There is something else. Samson is going to see _Meredith_. He is probably stressed too. She couldn’t imagine facing Meredith a second time. He is courageous to go on his own.

She should be brave too. She should face what she couldn’t, so Samson’s fight was not meaningless and his suffering was only limited to him. She’d be strong like Samson, and for him.

Phillipa pushes her chair back.

“I’ll go speak to Maddox then,” she says. More determined in herself, she stands to her feet, remembering what her roommate had said earlier, "Can you come with me, Zoe?"

"I always do." Zoe’s voice is far-away, like she’d inhaled a pipe of smoke in a short space of time.

When Zoe gets up from the table, her regard does not leave Samson’s. Almost disturbed by the exchange, Phillipa watches Samson. He is as intently focused on her. It is not _courteous_ looking. It is like the upsurge of inclination from the most frightening of romance stories, stares that can trap all those who cross its path like a cage of flames, a parasite trying to recuperate strength from the other. Zoe appears the same, a spider waiting for an ant to step into her web. The blonde can only think of describing it as watching something private, that _no one_ is allowed to witness. Phillipa has rarely felt more debauch, and squeamish.

_What is happening between those two?_

Zoe breaks the perversion and leads the way to the exit that is the long way to the magical stockroom.

“You didn’t speak to him at _all_?” Phillipa asks, once Samson is well and truly out of earshot.

Walking briskly, Zoe answers, “Earlier I considered: ‘Hey, my mother was incredibly fertile at my age. Do you think I am too?”

“You didn’t!” Phillipa gasps mortified.

“I told you I didn’t know what to say.”

This whatever-it-was between Zoe and Samson has one benefit. It allows Phillipa to keep her head while approaching the magical stockroom.

Though when she gets there all the panic reappears. “Why am I doing this again?”

Her roommate tries to smile. “He’s your lover.”

“That’s also reason not to,” Phillipa says, though when Zoe offers to hold her hand, she remembers Samson. He was with Meredith right now. Maddox is probably a better fate than facing the Knight Commander.

Trying to inhale, and wondering if her lungs have stopped working, the Templar approaches Maddox in plain sight.

She stops at the shelves, as her fears become clearer. She wonders how Maddox is going to perceive her now that his emotions are gone.

“Excuse me?” Zoe waves for the attention of a Tranquil.

A woman who has been there for years gives an obedient nod. The red sun printed on her forehead seems to burn Phillipa’s insides as if it is hot iron. “Good morning. What materials are you seeking?”

“Is Maddox there?” Zoe inquires, “He’s a short bloke– you should have met him this morning?”

“I understand whom it is you seek,” the Tranquil says, drifting away like a ghost.

Phillipa fidgets with her fingernails. “Zoe, what do I say to him?”

“Maybe ask how he is?” her roommate suggests, “I’m sorry. I have to go guard the Courtyard or Meredith will come looking for me next. You can do this, sister.”

 _No, don’t go!_ The blonde considers replying, but she sighs, “I will see you after lunch.”

They turn to follow the sound of running and see Cullen, struggling to catch his breath. “Phillipa, I wasn’t certain I’d see you so soon, but…” he sighed, “I heard from Samson about what happened. I still can’t believe it. I mean, I did think it was very _possible_ to occur, but not…”

“Cullen,” Zoe interrupts, storming past him, “Be nice.”

“I _am_ doing just that, Zoe,” Cullen mentions, looking dignified, though Phillipa is grateful her roommate interrupted him anyway. Mia’s brother pulls away from Zoe, but then his eyes go wide, fixated on something _behind_ Phillipa.

“I heard you asked for me?”

The voice is not how it used to be. It is not joyous and playful or even polite, but dead and lifeless… though it is definitely Maddox.

She doesn’t want to turn around. She wishes she never left her room this morning, because this is where it led. She has to face the consequences of her actions.

Her teeth clench together, and she meets Cullen’s gaze. He clears his throat. “I, uh, imagine you did not come here to simply stand there?”

“You don’t understand the struggle involved in standing here,” Phillipa responds coolly, not realizing she’d been bottling up some resentment for Cullen.

Cullen looks uncomfortable. “Yes, you’re – this could have been prevented, Phillipa, if you had taken more care to…”

“It was not I who got caught, Cullen!” Phillipa shouts, as the anger finally surfaces, “It was Maddox and Samson!”

“Samson?” Cullen understands slowly. “You’re joking. I thought even Samson knew better than to… I mean with me breathing down his neck at the frequency that…”

“I thought so as well,” Phillipa admits, stiffly, “though clearly he was not as vigilant.”

“I sense an immense aura of animosity,” Maddox observes flatly, “Would you appreciate suggestions on how to alleviate this?”

Cullen almost laughs, though it is a dark sound, “ _Animosity_?” he looks at Phillipa, “I must go. Need to meet my charges; they’re on the top floor. I needed to see for myself that it wasn’t all some convoluted nightmare. Maker – this is absurd. Will I see you later?”

Phillipa doesn’t want to say goodbye or acknowledge whether this counts as a fight. She recalls Samson’s joint suffering before turning around to see Maddox. The experience is nauseating. The man has the same lack of emotion as he did moments before being made Tranquil. His eyes are more than empty, but soulless. The red sunburst on his forehead is like a symbol for evil. Perhaps the sad voice inside is finally displayed on the outside.

She peers at his robes because that’s easier, even if the robes still do not suit him.  

“I’m sorry,” she says, trying to stop her voice from trembling, “I feel sick. It is very…”

“Is this the reason for your visit?” the Tranquil asks, “In order to treat your ailment, I require to understand the aetiology.”  

 _This isn’t Maddox,_ Phillipa thinks, her nausea not leaving her, _it just isn’t. The real Maddox would make a joke about how I’m overworking._

Though, she realizes, she wants it to be the real Maddox. She desires to find where her lover has gone. Still gazing at his robes, she grasps onto his hands.

“Maddox,” her voice is hoarse, “I came here because I wanted to see you. Do you not remember me?”

There is a tense pause, where Phillipa dreads the worst.

“I have memories of a woman with your appearance,” he says, finally.

The Templar feels a slight hope. Remembering that Samson had to look at Meredith instead, she looks into his eyes, though she also bends slightly at the knees so he can see completely into hers as well.

“What…”

She wants to ask if he recalls the Fade, though she doesn’t want to hear the answer if it is a ‘no’.

Tears fill her eyes for the one umpteenth time in the past twenty four hours. “Maddox – is there anything in the stockroom to make me stop missing you?”

The Tranquil appears indolent, his expression never changing, “Missing… are you referring to the emptiness experienced when desiring the presence of another who is absent?”

“YES!” Phillipa squeezes his hands harder. “Maddox, this isn’t you. I miss you. Where _are_ you? The one who would do something silly and tell me I’m beautiful in the same sentence?”

“Tranquility has the effect of eliminating emotional sensations once the connection to the Fade is severed.”

“I _know_ that,” Phillipa doesn’t wipe her tears as they fall down her face, “but does that mean you can’t come back? What if the connection isn’t lost?”

Maddox does not seem to understand the questions. “To alter your perception of emotions for the person in my memories, blood magic is one possibility.”

Phillipa groans. She doesn’t want to turn to blood magic, no matter how terrible this is. She didn’t want to lose more than she already has, “Bookshelf Destroyer?”

The mage hesitates. “The past remains important to you.”

“Of course it does,” she lowers the volume of her voice, “I love you.”

The Templars lifts one of Maddox’s hands and kisses the finger that had a ring on it the last time they were in the Fade.

“My ability to experience emotion is in the past, Ser Phillipa.”

Before the Tranquil can say anything more which is obvious and irritating, Phillipa lets go of Maddox’s hands and hugs him. She remembers how he used to hold her, but it is not how she gets held now. In fact, Maddox doesn’t do anything. It is truly stomach-churning.

“Come back,” she mutters, more to herself because the mage is not answering in the way she needs him to.

Maddox, again, is slow on the uptake. “The lover that existed in your memories is not here, though I can mimic your remembrances.”

“No.” Phillipa says. The thought of this is even more repulsive. Since a Tranquil cannot experience or barely express emotions, the acting would be terrible.

“Then I fail to understand what I can do for you,” he says, and the self-defeat _almost_ suits a Tranquil, like the real Maddox when he was sad.

“I knew I shouldn’t have come here,” Phillipa sobs, resting her head on the mage’s shoulder. If anyone is around her who had been woken by her cries while returning to her room with Orsino, they’d recognize it now. There is desperation and neediness in her thoughts, but slowly new thoughts form in her head, questions that had been frozen in the moments in Meredith’s office. At the time she’d been too panicked by the consequences to verbalize or think them.

 “My forever,’ she says the words ashamed, for they still mean something to her. She meets his eyes again and refuses to abandon them, “Why didn’t you cooperate like Orsino said? Why did you lie? Why were you so careless with Samson, talking to him like Meredith wouldn’t notice? I bet you were the one who spoke to him, didn’t you?”

Her chest expands freely and unrestrained as her truth is spoken.

Maddox tilts his head curiously before saying, “I wanted to secure your freedom. Through my observations and experience I concluded your future deserved more than what was possible to provide.”

“I would have waited forever for mages to have more freedom,” Phillipa strains, though her tears free her slightly than restrict her, “I told you. I vowed to stay by your side. I wasn’t lying. I thought Orsino could help me cope and you too.”

The Tranquil mechanically touches one of her hands, though it is a doleful gesture. “I recall unbearable guilt. I never cared about a person enough to feel guilt for them. The more I loved you, the more it agonized me, the more I despised myself for the impulsivity of being unable to resist you, and I wanted it to end. Mages free one day or not, I did not believe you deserved that form of extended suffering,” Maddox took one of her other hands in that equally dead-like manner. Phillipa realizes there is one way this version of Maddox remains charming – that there is no inhibition with expressing himself, “I did not speak to Samson with the aim of being discovered, though the guilt made me inattentive.”

Phillipa tries to halt her sobs as she remembers one of Maddox’s letters that explained this guilt. How did she not make the connection?

“I didn’t resent you, Maddox.” She grasps his fingers, “I don’t regret my relationship with you. _I_ feel guilty that I caused your Tranquility, but despite the hardship, you showed me love, and that there is more to rigid rules. There is the ability to bend, evade, break, and eventually, change them.” She kisses Maddox on the cheek, inhibitions gone, “My biggest regret is that you left me.” She sobs. “There are stiches on my wounds and all you have done is open them for everyone to witness the blood pour out. And maybe one day I will feel like I am connected in spirit to my brothers and sisters again, though…

The Tranquil doesn’t react to her emotion. “My ultimate imperfection is that I was born a mage.”

“No, that isn’t true,” Phillipa fills with pity, “you are wonderful.’

“My memories and experience tell me otherwise,” Maddox says.

“May I ask something of you, my forever?”

“Yes.”

Phillipa covers the red mark on his forehead with her hand. “Please don’t tell anyone else of your guilt, no matter how much they ask. Speak of your pride as a mage. Recall our relationship without your sadness. I don’t want you to suffer anymore, if the real you is retrievable.”

Maddox steps forward. “Judging by my memories, the Maddox you knew would try, so I will do as you ask.”

“Thank you,” the woman exhales in relief and hugs Maddox again, though this time she holds him as close as she can. It isn’t the same. Even his body is slightly cold. Though the Tranquil places his arms around her the way the old Maddox would, there is no passion or feeling behind it, all a posture like a statue.

Perhaps this can change too.

 “I will figure out if it is possible for Tranquility to be reversed. I swear it,” she whispers, “I will read every book I can find. This…The Fade is where anything can happen. There must be something to it. I won’t allow myself not to try.” She sighed, “I s-still love you, and while this Maddox makes me feel ill, I care for him too.”

“I understand,” Maddox replies.

There are footsteps approaching them, so she stands and attempts to look presentable, slightly self-conscious of her emotional outbursts. It is cathartic that she has expressed most of what she can think of for the moment.

Like before in the dining hall, she spots Samson, though he has red eyes. Perhaps he has been crying. The crinkle of paper catches her attention. Between the fingers of Samson’s right hand is an expensive strip of parchment, and even parts of the block letters can be seen from the ink in the page.

 _Is that a dismissal form?_ Phillipa thinks sadly.

As simple as that, all anger towards him evaporates.

"Good m-morning," Samson croaks, sounding as she does. It is somewhat reassuring that she isn’t the only one who is sad. His eyes linger on Maddox.

The blonde tries to recompose herself, "It isn't good, but thank you."

She surprises herself with the bitterness in her voice.

Dismissal.

This is her fault too.

Maddox is gone, now Samson is gone… who else would leave her?   

* * *

 

Mages surround her as she approaches the door to First Enchanter Orsino’s office.

Her charges follow sleepily, with little knowledge of what tragedy has befallen her. A new grief falls upon Phillipa. There will be new tears to shed tonight.  

“Are you not feeling well, Phillipa?” Ronette asks, “You look like you’ve been crying.”

Phillipa nods, and feels a fresh wave of tears fall down her face. “Y-Yes,” she chokes out, trying and failing to hide how upset she is.

“What happened?” Ainsley asked.

“You can’t just ask that!” Hensen spat out.

“Why are you sad?” Ronette inquired.

Phillipa wipes her eyes obsessively for a moment. No matter what, word is going to spread about her and Maddox. For her sense of integrity, she wants explain to her charges her own truth… to sew her double lives together.

“Do you remember Maddox?” she asks.

Her charges acknowledge that they do remember him.

“I don’t know if you have heard, but he was made Tranquil last night.”

Her charges gasp. “Why?”

“Shh!” She finds it hard to look them in the eye, although it is risky to mention anything here. “I know you are curious, though I will tell you after I have spoken to Orsino.”  

She knocks on the door. It will not the be last time she knocks on this door, though her gratitude towards the First Enchanter increases every time she speaks to him. She waits for two mages to finish speaking to him before she can enter. All the while, she tries to compose herself.

“Did you receive sleep at all, child?” Orsino asks. He looks mildly irked, although concern appears in his voice.

“Very little,” Phillipa replies, “Orsino, I don’t know if it is possible to not work today or not. I fear I won’t be able to concentrate.”

“Alas, I won’t have the opportunity to ask Meredith about it until the afternoon,” Orsino explains, “I suspect she is angry towards you, for reasons I do not understand. I recommend you do not strain yourself too much, child – I will let you know what can be done when I have the chance.”

“Thank you, First Enchanter,” Phillipa says. She hesitates. Now that the chaos of the previous night is over, she remembers questions. “May I ask you something?”

“Of course, Ser Phillipa,” Orsino says. It is apparent he is listening, even as he pours over some paperwork.

Even now, she isn’t certain she wants to know the truth.

Phillipa sniffs. “Perhaps it is foolish to ask. I apologize. Do you have any ideas on how this ordeal with Maddox could have been prevented? I do not mind if the response is a harsh one. I deserve your scrutiny.”

“I told you it is not your fault. Not entirely. What occurred between yourself and Maddox represents a much larger problem than what was initially apparent. Almost everything in the Circle is complicated to a degree, child,” Orsino sighs and pauses. “I have given the situation a lot of thought. I do not think you will like my answer.”

He abandons his paperwork and looks disheartened.

“I wish to know anyway.”

It isn’t a question of want, but of need.

“If we had been informed, there were a number of extreme measures Knight Commander Meredith and I could have taken in an attempt to minimize the impact of the situation,” he answers, “though I don’t think any of them would have pleased you. They likely would have degenerated Maddox’s behaviour, and they also may not have succeeded.”

“If you may, could you provide an example?”

“They are measures that few of your or my people are aware of, because they are rarely used. Most went out of practice years ago. Some are extremely unethical and perpetuate further harm. There are behavioural interventions, of varying intensities we could have placed on both of you – I dare not describe them in detail. On the lesser extreme, Maddox or yourself could have been monitored very carefully or transferred to different Circles with restrictions placed on your communication. I do not think it is reasonable to limit the Circle’s inhabitants further, so besides transferring Maddox and yourself; these methods are not discussed in training. I do not have the patience to explain. Although if you are interested, I may lend you some texts that Meredith wishes to keep far from your eyes, on the condition that you return it in the next few days.”

Overwhelmed with how hopeless even a so-called ‘best case scenario’ is, and somewhat grateful that Orsino wants to keep his word to help her, Phillipa finds herself losing control of her emotions again.

“I’m sorry,” Philipa sobs, feeling stupider than ever, “I should have known better.”

“There was no way for you to know better. Calm yourself, dear girl.”

Phillipa apologizes for crying, until she reclaims coherency. “You must be trying to defend me. You shouldn’t. I am a fool.”

“No. You certainly have been foolish, perhaps mad in your daring, although I do not think it is a sole fault of yours. Your record has been impeccable up until this point,” Orsino explains, “This incident is a perfect example of how this Circle’s management is flawed – and I like to think that it is not flawed on my behalf.”

“Probably not, First Enchanter.”

Orsino gave a small smile at that.

“I have gathered that many inhabitants of the Circle are afraid of being reprimanded. It is not surprising when you consider Knight Commander Meredith, previous First Enchanter’s, and to an extent, Knight Commander Guylain’s methods, and the culture of silence when faced with adversity takes years to undo. This affects what can be done with problems at the very start.”

Phillipa still finds it difficult to not see herself as the one to blame. “I appreciate your empathy, First Enchanter.”  

“Even if you had spoken to me at the beginning, with the best measures in place, there are some circumstances that are unruly,” Orsino decides on, “and I believe yours and Maddox is one of them. Even if the outcome had been different, it likely would not have been pleasant or in your best interests.”

“I hope you are able to help prevent these occurrences happening in future,” Phillipa says.

 “Yes.” Orsino looks at Phillipa skeptically, for too long, “I share the sentiment.”

He doesn’t sound convinced.


End file.
